,    •' 

- 


I  n  i .- 
i  IP  r 


LY      •/    OCK 


|>allock  Joote. 


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THE     CUP     OF     TREMBLING,      AND     OTHER 

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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


THE  CUP  OF  TREMBLING 

AND   OTHER   STORIES 


BY 


MARY  HALLOCK  FOOTE 


BOSTON,  NEW  YORK,  AND  CHICAGO 

HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

®be  Rtoettfibe  jBregtf,  Cambntige 


Copyright,  1895, 
BY  MAEY  HALLOCK  FOOTK. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


CONTENTS 


THE  CUP  or  TREMBLING       .....        1 

MAVEKICK    ........         86 

ON  A  SIDE-TRACK  .        .       .        ...        .120 

THE  TRUMPETER         .       .       .       .       .       .       174 


2072208 


THE  CUP  OF  TEEMBLING 


A  MINER  of  the  Cceur  d'Alene  was  return 
ing  alone  on  foot,  one  winter  evening,  from 
the  town  in  the  gulch  to  his  solitary  claim 
far  up  on  the  timbered  mountain-side. 

His  nearest  way  was  by  an  unfrequented 
road  that  led  to  the  Dreadnaught,  a  lofty 
and  now  abandoned  mine  that  had  struck 
the  vein  three  thousand  feet  above  the 
valley,  but  the  ore,  being  low-grade,  could 
never  be  made  to  pay  the  cost  of  transporta 
tion. 

He  had  cached  his  snow-shoes,  going 
down,  at  the  Bruce  boys'  cabin,  the  only 
habitation  on  the  Dreadnaught  road,  which 
from  there  was  still  open  to  town. 

The  snows  that  camp  all  summer  on  the 
highest  peaks  of  the  Cceur  d'Alene  were 
steadily  working  downward,  driving  the 
game  before  them ;  but  traffic  had  not 


2  THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

ceased  in  the  mountains.  Supplies  were 
still  delivered  by  pack-train  at  outlying 
claims  and  distant  cabins  in  the  standing 
timber.  The  miner  was  therefore  traveling 
light,  encumbered  with  no  heavier  load  than 
his  personal  requisition  of  tobacco  and 
whisky  and  the  latest  newspapers,  which  he 
circulated  in  exchange  for  the  wayside 
hospitalities  of  that  thinly  peopled  but 
neighborly  region. 

His  homeward  halt  at  the  cabin  was 
well  timed.  The  Bruce  boys  were  just  sit 
ting  down  to  supper;  and  the  moon,  that 
would  light  his  lonelier  way  across  the  white 
slopes  of  the  forest,  would  not  be  visible  for 
an  hour  or  more.  The  boys  threw  wood 
upon  their  low  cooking-fire  of  coals,  which 
flamed  up  gloriously,  spreading  its  imme 
morial  welcome  over  that  poor,  chance  sug 
gestion  of  a  home.  The  supper  was  served 
upon  a  board,  or  literally  two  boards,  nailed 
shelf-wise  across  the  lighted  end  of  the 
cabin,  beneath  a  small  window  where, 
crossed  by  the  squares  of  a  dusty  sash,  the 
austere  winter  twilight  looked  in :  a  sky  of 
stained-glass  colors  above  the  clear  heights 
of  snow ;  an  atmosphere  as  cold  and  pure  as 


THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING  3 

the  air  of  a  fireless  church ;  a  hushed  multi 
tude  of  trees  disguised  in  vestments  of  snow, 
a  mute  recessional  after  the  benediction  has 
been  said. 

Each  man  dragged  his  seat  to  the  table, 
and  placed  himself  sidewise,  that  his  legs 
might  find  room  beneath  the  narrow  board. 
Each  dark  face  was  illumined  on  one  side 
by  the  fitful  fire-glow,  on  the  other  by  the 
constant  though  fading  ray  from  the  win 
dow  ;  and,  as  they  talked,  the  boisterous  fire 
applauded,  and  the  twilight,  like  a  pale 
listener,  laid  its  cold  finger  on  the  pane. 

They  talked  of  the  price  of  silver,  of  the 
mines  shutting  down,  of  the  bad  times  East 
and  West,  and  the  signs  of  a  corrupt  gener 
ation  ;  and  this  brought  them  to  the  latest 
ill  rumor  from  town  —  a  sensation  that  had 
transpired  only  a  few  hours  before  the 
miner's  departure,  and  which  friends  of  the 
persons  discussed  were  trying  to  keep  as 
quiet  as  possible. 

The  name  of  a  young  woman  was  men 
tioned,  hitherto  a  rather  disdainful  favorite 
with  society  in  the  Coaur  d'Alene  —  the 
wife  of  one  of  the  richest  mine-owners  in  the 
State. 


4  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

The  "  Old  Man,"  as  the  miners  called 
him,  had  been  absent  for  three  months  in 
London,  detained  from  week  to  week  on  the 
tedious  but  paramount  business  of  selling 
his  mine.  The  mine,  with  its  fatalistic 
millions  (which,  it  was  surmised,  had  spoken 
for  their  owner  in  marriage  more  eloquently 
than  the  man  could  have  spoken  for  him 
self),  had  been  closed  down  pending  nego 
tiations  for  its  sale,  and  left  in  charge  of 
the  engineer,  who  was  also  the  superinten 
dent.  Tin's  young  man,  whose  personal 
qualities  were  in  somewhat  formidable  con 
trast  to  those  of  his  employer,  nevertheless, 
in  business  ways,  enjoyed  a  high  measure  of 
his  confidence,  and  had  indeed  deserved  it. 
The  present  outlook  was  somewhat  differ 
ent.  Persons  who  were  'fond  of  Waring 
were  saying  in  town  that  "  Jack  must,  be 
off  his  head,"  as  the  most  charitable  way  of 
accounting  for  his  late  eccentricity.  The 
husband  was  reported  to  be  on  shipboard, 
expected  in  New  York  in  a  week  or  less  ; 
but  the  wife,  without  explanation,  had  sud 
denly  left  her  home.  Her  disappearance 
was  generally  accounted  a  flight.  On  the 
same  night  of  the  young  woman's  evanish- 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  5 

ment,  Superintendent  Waring  had  relieved 
himself  of  his  duties  and  responsibilities, 
and  taken  himself  off,  with  the  same  irrevo 
cable  frankness,  leaving  upon  his  friends 
the  burden  of  his  excuses,  his  motives,  his 
whereabouts,  and  his  reputation. 

Since  news  of  the  double  desertion  had 
got  abroad,  tongues  had  been  busy,  and  a 
vigorous  search  was  afoot  for  evidence  of 
the  generally  assumed  fact  of  an  elopement, 
but  with  trifling  results. 

The  fugitives,  it  was  easily  learned,  had 
not  gone  out  by  the  railroad ;  but  Clark- 
son's  best  team,  without  bells,  and  a  bob 
sleigh  with  two  seats  in  it  had  been  driven 
into  the  stable-yard  before  daylight  on  the 
morning  of  the  discovery,  the  horses  rough 
and  jaded,  and  white  with  frozen  steam ; 
and  Clarkson  himself  had  been  the  driver 
on  this  hard  night  trip.  As  he  was  not  in 
the  habit  of  serving  his  patrons  in  this 
capacity,  and  as  he  would  give  none  but 
frivolous,  evasive  answers  to  the  many  ques 
tions  that  were  asked  him,  he  was  supposed 
to  be  accessory  to  Waring  in  his  crime 
against  the  morals  of  the  camp. 

While  the  visitor  enlarged  upon  the  evi- 


6  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

deuce  furnished  by  Clarkson's  night  ride, 
the  condition  of  his  horses,  and  his  own 
frank  lying,  the  Bruce  boys  glanced  at  each 
other  significantly,  and  each  man  spat  into 
the  fire  in  silence. 

The  traveler's  halt  was  over.  He  slipped 
his  feet  into  the  straps  of  his  snow-shoes, 
and  took  his  pole  in  hand ;  for  now  the 
moon  had  risen  to  light  his  path;  faint 
boreal  shadows  began  to  appear  on  the  glis 
tening  slopes.  He  shuffled  away,  and  his 
shape  was  soon  lost  in  the  white  depths  of 
the  forest. 

The  brothers  sat  and  smoked  by  their 
sinking  fire,  before  covering  its  embers  for 
the  night;  and  again  the  small  window, 
whitening  in  the  growing  moonlight,  was 
like  the  blanched  face  of  a  troubled  listener. 

"  That  must  have  been  them  last  night, 
you  recollect.  I  looked  out  about  two 
o'clock,  and  it  was  a  bob-sleigh,  crawlin'  up 
the  grade,  and  the  horses  had  n't  any  bells 
on.  The  driver  was  a  thick-set  man  like 
Clarkson,  in  a  buffaler  coat.  There  was  two 
on  the  back  seat,  a  man  and  woman  plain 
enough,  all  muffled  up,  with  their  heads 
down.  It  was  so  still  in  the  woods  I  could 


THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING  7 

have  heard  if  they  'd  been  talkin'  no  louder 
than  I  be  now ;  but  not  a  word  was  spoke 
all  the  way  up  the  hill.  I  says  to  myself, 
'  Them  folks  must  be  pretty  well  acquainted, 
'less  they  're  all  asleep,  goin'  along  through 
the  woods  the  prettiest  kind  of  a  night, 
walkin'  their  horses,  and  not  a  word  in  the 
whole  dumb  outfit.' " 

"  I  'm  glad  you  did  n't  open  your  head 
about  it,"  said  the  elder  brother.  "  We 
don't  know  for  certain  it  was  them,  and  it 's 
none  of  our  funeral,  anyhow.  Where, 
think,  could  they  have  been  going  to,  sup- 
posin'  you  was  right?  Would  Jack  be 
likely  to  harbor  up  there  at  the  mine  ?  " 

"  Where  else  could  they  get  to,  with  a 
team,  by  this  road  ?  Where  else  could  they 
be  safer  ?  Jack  's  inside  of  his  own  lines 
up  there,  and  come  another  big  snow  the 
road  '11  be  closed  till  spring  ;  and  who  'd 
bother  about  them,  anyway,  exceptin'  it 
might  be  the  Old  Man  ?  And  a  man  that 
leaves  his  wife  around  loose  the  way  he  done 
ain't  likely  to  be  huntin'  her  on  snow-shoes 
up  to  another  man's  mine." 

"  I  don't  believe  Jack  's  got  the  coin  to 
be  meanderin'  very  far  just  about  now,"  said 


8  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

the  practical  elder  brother.  "  He  's  staked 
out  with  a  pretty  short  rope,  unless  he  's 
realized  on  some  of  his  claims.  I  heard  he 
was  tryin'  to  dig  up  a  trade  with  a  man 
who 's  got  a  mine  over  in  the  Slocan  coun 
try.  That  would  be  convenient,  over  the 
line  among  the  Kanucks.  I  would  n't  won 
der  if  he 's  hidin'  out  for  a  spell  till  he 
gathers  his  senses,  and  gets  a  little  more 
room  to  turn  in.  He  can't  fly  far  with  a 
woman  like  her,  unless  his  pockets  are 
pretty  well  lined.  Them  easy-comers  easy- 
goers  ain't  the  kind  that  likes  to  rough  it. 
I  '11  bet  she  don't  bile  his  shirts  or  cook  his 
dinners,  not  much." 

"  It 's  a  wild  old  nest  up  there,"  said  the 
younger  and  more  imaginative  as  well  as 
more  sympathetic  of  the  brothers  —  "a  wild 
road  to  nowhere,  only  the  dropping-off 
place." 

"  What  gets  me  is  that  talk  of  Jack's 
last  fall,  when  you  was  in  the  Kooteiiai, 
about  his  intentions  to  bach  it  up  there  this 
winter,  if  he  could  coax  his  brother  out 
from  Manitoba  to  bach  with  him.  I 
would  n't  like  to  think  it  of  Jack,  that  he  'd 
lie  that  way,  just  to  turn  folks  off  the  scent. 


THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING  9 

But  he  did,  sure,  pack  a  lot  of  his  books 
and  stuff  up  to  the  mine  ;  grub,  too,  a  lot 
of  it ;  and  done  some  work  on  the  cabin. 
Think  he  was  fixiii'  up  for  a  hideout,  in  case 
he  should  need  one  ?  Or  wa'n't  it  any 
thing  but  a  bluff  ?" 

"  Naw,"  the  other  drawled  impatiently. 
"  Jack 's  no  such  a  deep  schemer  as  all  that 
conies  to.  More  'n  likely  he  seen  he  was 
workin'  the  wrong  lead,  and  concluded  't 
was  about  time  for  him  to  be  driftin'  in 
another  direction.  'T  ain't  likely  he  give 
in  to  such  foolishness  without  one  fight  with 
himself.  And  about  when  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  fire  himself  out,  and  quit  the 
whole  business,  the  Old  Man  puts  out  for 
London,  stuck  on  sellin'  his  mine,  and 
can't  leave  unless  Jack  stays  with  it.  And 
Jack  says  to  himself,  '  Well,  damn  it  all,  I 
done  what  I  could  !  What  is  to  be  will  be.' 
That 's  about  the  way  I  put  it  up." 

"  I  would  n't  be  surprised,"  the  other  as 
sented  ;  "  but  what 's  become  of  the  brother, 
if  there  ever  was  a  brother  in  it  at  all  ?  " 

"  Why,  Lord !  a  man  can  change  his 
mind.  But  I  guess  he  did  n't  tell  his 
brother  about  this  young  madam  he  was 


10  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

lookin'  after  along  with  the  rest  of  the  Old 
Man's  goods.  I  hain't  got  nothin'  against 
Jack  Waring ;  he 's  always  been  square 
with  me,  and  he's  an  awful  good  minin' 
man.  I  'd  trust  him  with  my  pile,  if  it  was 
millions,  but  I  would  n't  trust  him,  nor  any 
other  man,  with  my  wife." 

"  Sho  !  she  was  poor  stuff ;  she  was  light, 
I  tell  ye.  Think  of  some  of  the  women 
we  've  known  !  Did  they  need  watchin'  ? 
No,  sir  ;  it  ain't  the  man,  it 's  the  woman, 
when  it's  between  a  young  man  and  a 
married  woman.  It 's  her  foolishness  that 
gits  away  with  them  both.  Girls  is  dif 
ferent.  I  'd  skin  a  man  alive  that  set  the 
town  talkin'  about  my  sister  like  she  's  bein' 
talked  about,  now." 

The  brothers  stepped  outside  and  stood 
awhile  in  silence,  regarding  the  night  and 
breathing  the  pure,  frosty  air  of  the  forest. 
A  commiserating  thankfulness  swelled  in 
their  breasts  with  each  deep,  clean  inspira 
tion.  They  were  poor  men,  but  they  were 
free  men  —  free,  compared  with  Jack. 
There  was  no  need  to  bar  their  door,  or 
watch  suspiciously,  or  skulk  away  and  hide 
their  direction,  choosing  the  defense  of  win- 


THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING  11 

ter  and  the  deathlike  silence  of  the  snows  to 
the  observation  of  their  kind. 

They  stared  with  awe  up  the  white,  blank 
road  that  led  to  the  deserted  mine,  and  they 
marveled  in  homely  thinking :  "  Will  it 
pay  ?  "  It  was  "  the  wrong  lead  this  time, 
sure." 

The  brothers  watched  the  road  from  day 
to  day,  and  took  note  that  not  a  fresh  track 
had  been  seen  upon  it ;  not  a  team,  or  a 
traveler  on  snow-shoes,  had  gone  up  or  down 
since  the  night  when  the  bob-sleigh  with  its 
silent  passengers  had  creaked  up  it  in  the 
moonlight.  Since  that  night  of  the  full 
moon  of  January  not  another  footprint  had 
broken  the  smoothness  of  that  hidden  track. 
The  snow-tides  of  midwinter  flowed  over  it. 
They  filled  the  gulch  and  softly  mounting, 
snow  on  snow,  rose  to  the  eaves  of  the  little 
cabin  by  the  buried  road.  The  Bruce  boys 
dug  out  their  window  ;  the  hooded  roof  pro 
tected  their  door.  They  walked  about  on 
top  of  the  frozen  tide,  and  entered  their 
house,  as  if  it  were  a  cellar,  by  steps  cut  in  a 
seven-foot  wall  of  snow. 

One  gray  day  in  February  a  black  dog, 
with  a  long  nose  and  bloodshot  eyes,  leaped 


12  THE    CUP   OF   TKEMBLING 

down  into  the  trench  and  pawed  upon  the 
cabin  door.  Opening  to  the  sound,  the 
Bruce  boys  gave  him  a  boisterous  welcome, 
calling  their  visitor  by  name.  The  dog  was 
Tip,  Jack  Waring' s  clever  shepherd  spaniel, 
a  character  as  well  known  in  the  mountains 
as  his  master.  Indeed,  he  was  too  well 
known,  and  too  social  in  his  habits,  for  a 
safe  member  of  a  household  cultivating  strict 
seclusion  ;  therefore,  when  Tip's  master  went 
away  with  his  neighbor's  wife,  Tip  had  been 
left  behind.  His  reappearance  on  this  road 
was  regarded  by  the  Bruce  boys  as  highly 
suggestive. 

Tip  was  a  dog  that  never  forgave  an  in 
jury  or  forgot  a  kindness.  Many  a  good 
bone  he  had  set  down  to  the  Bruce  boys' 
credit  in  the  days  when  his  master's  mine 
was  supposed  to  be  booming,  and  his  own 
busy  feet  were  better  acquainted  with  the 
Dreadnaught  road.  He  would  not  come  in, 
but  stood  at  the  door,  wagging  his  tail  in 
quiringly.  The  boys  were  about  to  haul  him 
into  the  cabin  by  the  hair  of  his  neck,  or 
shut  him  out  in  the  cold,  when  a  shout  was 
heard  from  the  direction  of  the  road  above. 
Looking  out,  they  saw  a  strange  young  man 


THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING  13 

on  snow-shoes,  who  hailed  them  a  second 
time,  and  stood  still,  awaiting  their  response. 
Tip  appeared  to  be  satisfied  now ;  he  briskly 
led  the  way,  the  boys  following,  up  the  frozen 
steps  cut  in  their  moat-wall  of  snow,  and 
stood  close  by,  assisting,  with  all  the  elo 
quence  his  honest,  ugly  phiz  was  capable  of, 
at  the  conference  that  ensued.  He  showed 
himself  particularly  anxious  that  his  old 
friends  should  take  his  word  for  the  stranger 
whom  he  had  introduced  and  appeared  to 
have  adopted. 

Pointing  up  the  mountain,  the  young  man 
asked,  "  Is  that  the  way  to  the  Dreadnaught 
mine  ?  " 

"  There  ain't  anybody  workin'  up  there 
now,"  Jim  Bruce  replied  indirectly,  after  a 
pause  in  which  he  had  been  studying  the 
stranger's  appearance.  His  countenance 
was  exceedingly  fresh  and  pleasing,  his  age 
about  twenty  years.  He  was  buttoned  to 
the  chin  in  a  reefing-jacket  of  iron-gray  Irish 
frieze.  His  smooth,  girlish  face  was  all  over 
one  pure,  deep  blush  from  exertion  in  the 
cold.  He  wore  Canadian  snow-shoes  strapped 
upon  his  feet,  instead  of  the  long  Norwegian 
skier  on  which  the  men  of  the  Creur  d'Alene 


14  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

make  tlieir  winter  journeys  in  the  moun 
tains  ;  and  this  difference  alone  would  have 
marked  him  for  a  stranger  from  over  the 
line.  After  he  had  spoken,  he  wiped  away 
the  icy  moisture  of  his  breath  that  frosted 
his  upper  lip,  stuck  a  short  pipe  between  his 
teeth,  drew  off  one  mitten  and  fumbled  in 
his  clothing  for  a  match.  The  Bruce  boys 
supplied  him  with  a  light,  and  as  the  fresh, 
pungent  smoke  ascended,  he  raised  his  head 
and  smiled  his  thanks. 

"  Is  this  the  road  to  the  Waring  mine  — 
the  Dreadnaught  ?  "  he  asked  again,  delib 
erately,  after  a  pull  or  two  at  his  pipe. 

And  again  came  the  evasive  answer : 
"  Mine  's  shut  down.  Ain't  nobody  workin' 
up  there  now." 

The  youngster  laughed  aloud.  "  Most 
uncommunicative  population  I  ever  struck," 
he  remarked,  in  a  sort  of  humorous  despair. 
"  That 's  the  way  they  answered  me  in  town. 
I  say,  is  this  a  hoodoo  ?  If  my  brother  is  n't 
up  there,  where  in  the  devil  is  he  ?  All  I  ask 
is  a  straight  answer  to  a  straight  question." 

The  Bruce  boys  grinned  their  embarrass 
ment.  "  You  '11  have  to  ask  us  somethin' 
easier,"  they  said. 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  15 

"  This  is  the  road  to  the  mine,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that 's  the  road  all  right  enough," 
the  boys  admitted  ;  "  but  you  can  see  your 
self  how  much  it 's  been  traveled  lately." 

The  stranger  declined  to  be  put  off  with 
such  casual  evidence  as  this.  "  The  wind 
would  wipe  out  any  snow-shoe  track ;  and  a 
snow-shoer  would  as  soon  take  across  the 
woods  as  keep  the  road,  if  he  knew  the 
way." 

"Wai,"  said  Jim  Bruce,  conclusively, 
"  most  of  the  boys,  when  they  are  humpin' 
themselves  to  town,  stops  in  here  for  a  spell 
to  limber  up  their  shins  by  our  fire ;  but 
Jack  Waring  hain't  fetched  his  bones  this 
way  for  two  months  and  better.  Looks 
mighty  queer  that  we  hain't  seen  track  nor 
trace  of  him  if  he  's  been  livin'  up  there 
since  winter  set  in.  Are  you  the  brother  he 
was  talkin'  of  sending  for  to  come  out  and 
bach  it  with  him  ?  " 

The  boys  were  conscious  of  their  own  un 
easy  looks  as  the  frank  eyes  of  the  stranger 
met  theirs  at  the  question. 

"  I  'in  the  only  brother  he 's  got.  He 
wrote  me  last  August  that  he  'd  taken  a  fit 
of  the  sulks,  and  wanted  me  to  come  and 


16  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

help  him  work  it  off  up  here  at  his  mine.  I 
was  coming,  only  a  good  job  took  me  in  tow ; 
and  after  a  month  or  so  the  work  went  back 
on  me,  and  I  wrote  to  Jack  two  weeks  ago 
to  look  out  for  me ;  and  here  I  am.  And 
the  people  in  town,  where  he  's  been  doing 
business  these  six  years,  act  as  if  they  dis 
tantly  remembered  him.  '  Oh,  yes,'  they  say, 
*  Jack  Waring ;  but  he  's  gone  away,  don't 
you  know  ?  Snowed  under  somewhere ; 
don't  know  where.'  I  asked  them  if  he'd 
left  no  address.  Apparently  not.  Asked 
if  he  'd  seemed  to  be  clothed  in  his  proper 
senses  when  last  seen.  They  thought  so.  I 
went  to  the  post-office,  expecting  to  find  his 
mail  piled  up  there.  Every  scrap  had  been 
cleaned  up  since  Friday  last ;  but  not  the 
letter  I  wrote  him,  so  he  can't  be  looking 
for  me.  The  P.  M.  squirmed,  like  every 
body  else,  when  I  mentioned  my  brother  ; 
but  he  owned  that  a  man's  mail  can't  leave 
the  box  without  hands,  and  that  the  hands 
belonged  usually  to  some  of  the  boys  at  the 
Mule  Deer  mine.  Now,  the  Mule  Deer  is 
next  neighbor  to  the  Dreadnaught,  across 
the  divide.  It 's  a  friendly  power,  I  know  ; 
and  that  confirms  me  that  my  brother  has 


TEE   CUP   OF  TREMBLING  17 

done  just  what  he  said  he  was  going  to  do. 
The  tone  of  his  letter  showed  that  he  was 
feeling  a  bit  seedy.  He  seemed  to  have 
soured  on  the  town  for  some  reason,  which 
might  mean  that  the  town  has  soured  on  him. 
I  don't  ask  what  it  is,  and  I  don't  care  to 
know,  but  something  has  queered  him  with 
the  whole  crowd.  I  asked  Clarkson  to  let 
me  have  a  man  to  show  me  the  way  to  the 
Dreadnaught.  He  calmly  lied  to  me  a  blue 
streak,  and  he  knew  that  I  knew  he  was 
lying.  And  then  Tip,  here,  looked  me  in 
the  eye,  with  his  head  on  one  side,  and  I 
saw  that  he  was  on  to  the  whole  business." 

"  Smartest  dog  that  ever  lived ! "  Jim 
Bruce  ejaculated.  "  I  would  n't  wonder  if 
he  knew  you  was  Jack's  brother." 

"  I  won't  swear  that  he  could  name  the 
connection ;  but  he  knows  I  'm  looking  for 
his  master,  and  he  's  looking  for  him  too ; 
but  he  's  afraid  to  trail  after  him  without 
a  good  excuse.  See  ?  I  don't  know  what 
Tip  's  been  up  to,  that  he  should  be  left  with 
a  man  like  Clarkson ;  but  whatever  he  's 
done,  he  's  a  good  dog  now.  Ain't  you,  Tip  ?  " 

"  He  done  ! "  Jim  Bruce  interrupted 
sternly.  "  Tip  never  done  nothing  to  be 


18  THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

punished  for.  Got  more  sense  of  what's 
right  than  most  humans,  and  lives  up  to  it 
straight  along.  I  'd  quar'l  with  any  man 
that  looked  cross  at  that  dog.  You  old 
brute,  you  rascal!  What  you  doin'  up 
here  ?  Ain't  you  'shamed,  totin'  folks  'way 
up  here  on  a  wild-goose  chase  ?  What  you 
doin'  it  fer,  eh?  Pertendin'  you  're  so 
smart !  You  know  Jack  ain't  up  here ; 
Jack  ain't  up  here,  I  say.  Go  along  with 
ye,  try  in'  to  fool  a  stranger  !  " 

Tip  was  not  only  unconvinced  by  these 
unblushing  assertions  on  the  part  of  a  friend 
whose  word  he  had  never  doubted  :  he  was 
terribly  abashed  and  troubled  by  their  mani 
fest  disingenuousness.  From  a  dog's  point 
of  view  it  was  a  poor  thing  for  the  Bruce 
boys  to  do,  trying  to  pass  upon  him  like  this. 
He  blinked  apologetically,  and  licked  his 
chaps,  and  wagged  the  end  of  his  tail,  which 
had  sunk  a  trifle  from  distress  and  embar 
rassment  at  his  position. 

The  three  men  stood  and  watched  the 
workings  of  his  mind,  expressed  in  his  hum 
ble,  doggish  countenance  ;  and  a  final  ad 
mission  of  the  truth  that  he  had  been  try 
ing  to  conceal  escaped  Jim  Bruce  in  a  burst 


TEE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  19 

of  admiration  for  his  favorite's  unswerving 
sagacity. 

"  Smartest  dog  that  ever  lived  !  "  he  re 
peated,  triumphant  in  defeat ;  and  the  bro 
thers  wasted  no  more  lies  upon  the  stranger. 

There  was  something  uncanny,  thought 
the  young  man,  in  this  mystery  about  his  bro 
ther,  that  grew  upon  him  and  waxed  formid 
able,  and  pursued  him  even  into  the  depths 
of  the  snow-buried  wilderness.  The  breath 
of  gossip  should  have  died  on  so  clean  an 
air,  unless  there  had  been  more  than  gossip 
in  it. 

The  Bruce  boys  ceased  to  argue  with  him 
on  the  question  of  his  brother's  occupancy  of 
the  mine.  They  urged  other  considerations 
by  way  of  delaying  him.  They  spoke  of  the 
weather ;  of  the  look  of  snow  in  the  sky,  the 
feeling  of  snow  in  the  air,  the  yellow  still 
ness  of  the  forest,  the  creeping  cold.  They 
tried  to  keep  him  over  night,  on  the  offer  of 
their  company  up  the  mountain  in  the  morn 
ing,  if  the  weather  should  prove  fit.  But  he 
was  confident,  though  graver  in  manner  than 
at  first,  that  he  was  going  to  a  supper  and  a 
bed  at  his  brother's  camp,  to  say  nothing  of 
a  brother's  welcome. 


20  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

"  I  'm  positive  he  's  up  there.  I  froze  on 
to  it  from  the  first,"  he  persisted.  "  And 
why  should  I  sleep  at  the  foot  of  the  hill 
when  my  brother  sleeps  at  the  top  ?  " 

The  Bruce  boys  were  forced  to  let  him  go 
on,  with  the  promise,  merely  allowing  for  the 
chance  of  disappointment,  that  if  he  found 
nobody  above  he  would  not  attempt  to  re 
turn  after  nightfall  by  the  Dreadnaught 
road,  which  hugs  the  peak  at  a  height  above 
the  valley  where  there  is  always  a  stiff  gale 
blowing,  and  the  combing  drifts  in  mid 
winter  are  forty  feet  high. 

"  Trust  Tip,"  they  said  ;  "  he  '11  show  you 
the  trail  across  the  mountain  to  the  Mide 
Deer"  —a  longer  but  far  safer  way  to 
shelter  for  the  night. 

"  Tip  is  fly ;  he  '11  see  me  through,"  said 
Jack's  brother.  "  I  'd  trust  him  with  my 
life.  I  '11  be  back  this  way  possibly  in  the 
morning ;  but  if  you  don't  see  me,  come  up 
and  pay  us  a  visit.  We  '11  teach  the  Dread- 
naught  to  be  more  neighborly.  Here 's 
hoping,"  he  cried,  and  the  three  drank  in 
turn  out  of  the  young  fellow's  flask,  the 
Bruce  boys  almost  solemnly  as  they  thought 
of  the  meeting  between  the  brothers,  the 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  21 

sequel  to  that  innocent  hope.  Unhappy 
brother,  unhappy  Jack  ! 

He  turned  his  face  to  the  snows  again, 
and  toiled  on  up  the  mountain,  with  Tip's 
little  figure  trotting  on  ahead. 

"  Think  of  Jack's  leavin'  a  dog  like  that, 
and  takin'  up  with  a  woman ! "  said  Jim 
Bruce,  as  he  squared  his  shoulders  to  the 
fire,  yawning  and  shuddering  with  the  chill 
he  had  brought  with  him  from  outside. 
"  And  such  a  woman  !  "  he  added.  "  I  'd 
want  the  straight  thing,  or  else  I  'd  manage 
to  git  along  without.  Anything  decent 
would  have  taken  the  dog  too." 

"  'T  was  mortal  cute,  though,  of  the 
youngster  to  freeze  on  to  Tip,  and  pay  no 
attention  to  the  talk.  He  knows  a  dog, 
that 's  sure.  And  Tip  knowed  him.  But  I 
wish  we  could  'a'  blocked  that  little  rascal's 
game.  'T  was  too  bad  to  let  him  go  on." 

"  I  never  see  anybody  so  stuck  on  goin' 
to  a  place,"  said  the  elder  Bruce.  "  We  '11 
see  him  back  in  the  morning  :  but  I  '11  bet 
he  don't  jaw  much  about  brother  Jack." 

The  manager's  house  at  the  Dread- 
naught  had  been  built  in  the  time  of  the 


22  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

mine's  supposititious  prosperity,  and  was 
the  ideal  log  cabin  of  the  Coeur  d'Alene. 
A  thick-waisted  chimney  of  country  rock 
buttressed  the  long  side-wall  of  peeled  logs 
chinked  with  mud.  The  front  room  was 
twenty  feet  across,  and  had  a  stone  hearth 
and  a  floor  of  dressed  pine.  Back  of  it 
were  a  small  bedroom  and  a  kitchen  into 
which  water  was  piped  from  a  spring  higher 
up  on  the  mountain.  The  roof  of  cedar 
shakes  projected  over  the  gable,  shading 
the  low-browed  entrance  from  the  sun  in 
summer,  and  protecting  it  in  winter  from 
the  high-piled  snows. 

Like  a  swallow's  nest  it  clung  in  the 
hollow  of  the  peak,  which  slopes  in  vast, 
grand  contours  to  the  valley,  as  if  it  were 
the  inside  of  a  bowl,  the  rim  half  broken 
away.  The  valley  is  the  bottom  of  the 
bowl,  and  the  broken  rim  is  the  lower  range 
of  hills  that  completes  its  boundary.  Great 
trees,  growing  beside  its  hidden  streams 
far  below,  to  the  eye  of  a  dweller  in  the 
cabin  are  dwarfed  to  the  size  of  junipers, 
and  the  call  of  those  unseen  waters  comes 
dreamily  in  a  distant,  inconstant  murmur, 
except  when  the  wind  beats  up  the  peak, 


THE   CUP   OF  TREMBLING  23 

which  it  seldom  does,  as  may  be  seen  by  the 
warp  of  the  pines  and  tamaracks,  and  the 
drifting  of  the  snows  in  winter. 

To  secure'  level  space  for  the  passage  of 
teams  in  front  of  the  house,  an  embank 
ment  had  been  thrown  up,  faced  with  a 
heavy  retaining-wall  of  stone.  This  bench, 
or  terrace,  was  now  all  one  with  the  moun 
tain-side,  heaped  up  and  smoothed  over  with 
snow. 

Jack,  in  his  winter  nest-building,  had 
cleared  a  little  space  for  air  and  light  in 
front  of  each  of  the  side  windows,  and  with 
unceasing  labor  he  shoveled  out  the  snow 
which  the  wind  as  constantly  sifted  into 
these  pits,  and  into  the  trench  beneath  the 
hooded  roof  that  sheltered  the  gable  en 
trance. 

The  snow  walls  of  this  sunken  gallery  rose 
to  the  height  of  the  door-frame,  cutting  out 
all  view  from  without  or  within.  A  per 
petual  white  twilight,  warmed  by  the  glow 
of  their  hearth-fire,  was  all  that  the  fugi 
tives  ever  saw  of  the  day.  Sun,  or  stars 
were  alike  to  them.  One  link  they  had 
with  humanity,  however,  without  which  they 
might  have  suffered  hardship,  or  even  have 


24  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

been  forced  to  succumb  to  their  savage  iso 
lation. 

The  friendly  Mule  Deer  across  the  moun 
tain  was  in  a  state  of  winter  siege,  like  the 
Dreadnaught,  but  had  not  severed  its  con 
nections  with  the  world.  It  was  a  working 
mine,  with  a  force  of  fifty  or  more  men  on 
its  pay-roll,  and  regular  communication  on 
snow-shoes  was  had  with  the  town.  The 
mine  was  well  stocked  as  well  as  garrisoned, 
and  Jack  was  indebted  to  the  friendship 
of  the  manager  for  many  accustomed  lux 
uries  which  Esmee  would  have  missed  in 
the  new  life  that  she  had  rashly  welcomed 
for  his  sake.  No  woman  could  have  been 
less  fitted  than  she,  by  previous  circum 
stances  and  training,  to  take  her  share  of 
its  hardships,  or  to  contribute  to  its  slender 
possibilities  in  the  way  of  comfort.  A  ser 
vant  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  No  servant 
but  a  Chinaman  would  have  been  imper 
sonal  enough  for  the  situation,  and  all  hea 
then  labor  has  been  ostracized  by  Christian 
white  labor  from  the  Co3ur  d'Alene. 

So  Jack  waited  upon  his  love,  and  was 
inside  man  and  outside  man,  and  as  he 
expressed  it,  "general  dog  around  the 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  25 

place."  He  "was  a  clever  cook,  which  goes 
without  saying  in  one  who  has  known  good 
living,  and  has  lived  eight  years  a  bachelor 
on  the  frontier:  but  he  cleaned  his  own 
kitchen  and  washed  his  own  skillets,  which 
does  not  go  without  saying,  sooner  than  see 
Esmee's  delicate  hands  defiled  with  such 
grimy  tasks.  He  even  swept,  as  a  man 
sweeps  ;  but  what  man  was  ever  known  to 
dust?  The  house,  for  all  bis  ardent,  un 
remitting  toil,  did  not  look  particularly 
tidy. 

Its  great,  dark  front  room  was  a  man's 
room,  big,  undraped  and  uncurtained, 
strongly  framed,  —  the  framework  much 
exposed  in  places,  —  heavy  in  color,  hard  in 
texture,  yet  a  stronghold,  and  a  place  of  ab 
solute  reserve :  a  very  safe  place  in  which 
to  lodge  such  a  secret  as  Esmee.  And 
there  she  was,  in  her  exotic  beauty,  shiver 
ing  close  to  a  roaring  fire,  scorching  her 
cheeks  that  her  silk-clad  shoulders  might  be 
warm.  She  had  never  before  lived  in  a 
house  where  the  fires  went  out  at  night, 
and  water  froze  beside  her  bed,  and  the 
floors  were  carpetless  and  cold  as  the  world's 
indifference  to  her  fate.  She  was  absolutely 


26  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

without  clothing  suited  to  such  a  change,  nor 
would  she  listen  to  sensible,  if  somewhat  un 
attractive,  suggestions  from  Jack.  Now, 
least  of  all  times,  could  she  afford  to  dis 
guise  her  picturesque  beauty  for  the  sake  of 
mere  comfort  and  common  sense,  or  even  to 
spare  Jack  his  worries  about  her  health. 

It  was  noon,  and  the  breakfast-table  still, 
stood  in  front  of  the  fire.  Jack,  who  since 
eight  o'clock  had  been  chopping  wood  and 
"  packing  "  it  out  of  the  tunneled  snow-drift 
which  was  the  woodshed  into  the  kitchen, 
and  cooking  breakfast,  and  shoveling  snow 
out  of  the  trenches,  sat  glowing  on  his  side 
of  the  table,  farthest  from  the  fire,  while 
Esmee,  her  chair  drawn  close  to  the  hearth, 
was  sipping  her  coffee  and  holding  a  fan 
spread  between  her  face  and  the  flames. 

"  Jack,  I  wish  you  had  a  fire-screen  — 
one  that  would  stand  of  itself,  and  not  have 
to  be  held." 

"  Bless  you !  I  'd  be  your  fire-screen, 
only  I  think  I  'm  rather  hotter  than  the  fire 
itself.  I  insist  that  you  take  some  exercise, 
Esmee.  Come,  walk  the  trench  with  me 
ten  rounds  before  I  start." 

"  Why  do  you  start  so  early  ?  " 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  27 

"  Do  you  call  this  early  ?  Besides,  it 
looks  like  snow." 

"  Then,  why  go  at  all  ?  " 

"  You  know  why  I  go,  dearest.  The  boys 
went  to  town  yesterday.  I  've  had  no  mail 
for  a  week." 

"  And  can't  you  exist  without  your 
mail?" 

"  Existence  is  just  the  hitch  with  us  at 
present.  It 's  for  your  sake  I  cannot  afford 
to  be  overlooked.  If  I  fall  out  of  step  in 
my  work,  it  may  take  years  to  get  into  line 
again.  I  can't  say  like  those  ballad  fellows  : 

'  Arise  !  my  love,  and  fearless  be, 
For  o'er  the  southern  moors  I  have  a  home  for  thee.' 

"  I  wish  I  had.  We  '11  put  some  money 
in  our  purse,  and  then  we  '11  make  ourselves 
a  home  where  we  please.  Money  is  the 
first  thing  with  us  now.  You  must  see 
that  yourself." 

"I  see  it,  of  course  ;  but  it  does  n't  seem 
the  nearest  way  to  a  fortune,  going  twice  a 
week  on  snow-shoes  to  play  solo  at  the  Mule 
Deer  mine.  Confess,  Jack  dear,  you  do 
not  come  straight  away  as  soon  as  you  get 
your  mail." 


28  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

"  I  do  not,  of  course.  I  must  be  civil, 
after  a  fashion,  to  Wilfrid  Knight,  consid 
ering  all  that  he  is  doing  for  me." 

"  What  is  he  doing  for  you  ?  " 

"He  's  working  as  hard  as  he  can  for  me 
in  certain  directions.  It 's  best  not  to  say 
too  much  about  these  things  till  they  've 
materialized  ;  but  he  has  as  strong  a  back 
ing  as  any  man  in  the  Coeur  d'Alene.  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  can't  afford  not  to  be 
civil  to  him,  if  it  meant  solo  every  day  in 
the  week." 

Esmee  smiled  a  little,  but  remained  silent. 
Jack  went  around  to  the  chimney-piece  and 
filled  his  pipe,  and  began  to  stalk  about 
the  room,  talking  in  brief  sentences  as  he 
smoked. 

"  And  by  the  way,  dearest,  would  you 
mind  if  he  should  drop  in  on  us  some  day  ?  " 
Jack  laughed  at  his  own  phrase,  so  literally 
close  to  the  only  mode  of  gaining  access  to 
their  cellarage  in  the  snow. 

Esmee  looked  up  quickly.  "  What  in 
the  world  does  he  want  to  come  here  for? 
Does  n't  he  see  enough  of  you  as  it  is  ?  " 

"  He  wants  to  see  something  of  you ;  and 
it's  howling  lonesome  at  the  Mule  Deer. 
Won't  you  let  him  come,  Esmee?" 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  29 

"  Why,  do  you  want  him,  Jack?" 

"  I  want  him !  What  should  I  want 
him  for  ?  But  we  have  to  be  decent  to  a 
man  who  's  doing  everything  in  the  world 
for  us.  We  could  n't  have  made  it  here,  at 
all,  without  the  aid  and  comfort  of  the 
Mule  Deer." 

"I'd  rather  have  done  without  his  aid 
and  comfort,  if  it  must  be  paid  for  at  his 
own  price." 

"  Everything  has  got  to  be  paid  for. 
Even  that  inordinate  fire,  which  you  won't 
be  parted  from,  has  to  be  paid  for  with  a 
burning  cheek." 

"Not  if  you  had  a  fire-screen,  Jack," 
Esmee  reminded  him  sweetly. 

"  We  will  have  one  —  an  incandescent 
fire-screen  on  two  legs.  Will  two  be 
enough?  A  Mule  Deer  miner  shall  pack 
it  in  on  his  back  from  town.  But  we  shall 
have  to  thank  Wilfrid  Knight  for  sending 
him.  Well,  if  you  won't  have  him  here, 
he  can't  come,  of  course  ;  but  it 's  a  mistake, 
I  think.  We  can't  afford,  in  my  opinion, 
not  to  see  the  first  hand  that  is  held  out  to 
us  in  a  social  way  —  a  hand  that  can  help 
us  if  it  will,  but  one  that  is  quite  as  strong 
to  injure  us." 


30  TEE   CUP   OF  TREMBLING 

"  Have  him,  then,  if  he  's  so  dangerous. 
But.  is  he  nice,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  He 's  nice  enough,  as  men  go.  We  're 
not  any  of  us  any  too  nice." 

"  Some  of  you  are  at  least  considerate, 
and  I  think  it  very  inconsiderate  of  Mr. 
Wilfrid  Knight  to  wish  to  intrude  himself 
on  me  now." 

"  Dearest,  he  has  been  kindness  itself, 
and  delicacy,  in  a  way.  Twice  he  has  sent 
a  special  man  to  town  to  hunt  up  little  dain 
ties  and  comforts  for  you  when  my  prison 
fare"- 

"  Jack,  what  do  you  mean  ?  Has  Wilfrid 
Knight  been  putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket 
for  things  for  me  to  eat  and  drink  ?  " 

"  His  pocket 's  not  much  hurt.  Don't  let 
that  disturb  you ;  but  it  is  something  to  send 
a  man  fifteen  miles  down  the  mountain  to 
pack  the  stuff.  You  might  very  properly 
recognize  that,  if  you  chose." 

"  I  recognize  nothing  of  it.  Why  did 
you  not  tell  me  how  it  was?  I  thought 
that  you  were  sending  for  those  things." 

"How  can  I  send  Knight's  men  on  my 
errands,  if  you  please?  I  don't  show  up 
very  largely  at  the  mine  in  person.  You 


THE   CUP   OF  TREMBLING  31 

don't  seem  to  realize  the  situation.  Did 
you  suppose  that  the  Mule  Deer  men,  when 
they  fetch  these  things  from  town,  know 
whom  they  are  for?  They  may,  but  they 
are  not  supposed  to." 

"  Arrange  it  as  you  like,  but  I  will  not 
take  presents  from  the  manager  of  the  Mule 
Deer." 

"  He  has  dined  at  your  table,  Esmee." 

"  Not  at  my  table,"  said  Esmee,  haughtily 
averting  her  face. 

"  But  you  have  been  nice  to  him  ;  he  re 
members  you  with  distinct  pleasure." 

"  Very  likely.  It  is  my  role  to  be  nice 
to  people.  I  should  be  nice  to  him  if  he 
came  here  now ;  but  I  should  hate  him  for 
coming.  If  he  were  nice,  he  would  not 
dream  of  your  asking  him  or  allowing  him 
to  come." 

"  Darling,  darling,  we  can't  keep  it  up 
like  this.  We  are  not  lords  of  fate  to  that 
extent.  Fellows  will  pay  you  attention ; 
they  always  have  and  they  always  will :  but 
you  must  not,  dearest,  imply  that  I  am  not 
sensitive  on  the  point  of  what  you  may  or 
may  not  receive  in  that  way.  I  should 
make  myself  a  laughing-stock  before  all  men 


32  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

if  I  should  begin  by  resenting  things.  I 
could  not  insult  you  so.  I  will  resent  no 
thing  that  a  husband  does  not  resent."  • 

"Jack,  don't  you  understand?  I  could 
have  taken  it  lightly  once ;  I  always  used 
to.  I  can't  take  it  lightly  now.  I  cannot 
have  him  come  here  —  the  first  to  see  us  in 
this  solitude  a  deux,  the  most  intimate,  the 
most  awful  — 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  murmured  Jack. 
"It  is  awful,  I  admit  it,  for  you.  But  it 
always  will  be.  Ours  is  a  double  solitude 
for  life,  with  the  world  always  eying  us 
askance,  scoring  us,  or  secretly  envying  us, 
or  merely  wondering  coarsely  about  us.  It 
takes  tremendous  courage  in  a  woman  ;  but 
you  will  have  the  courage  of  your  honesty, 
your  surpassing  generosity  to  me." 

"  Generosity  !  "  Esmee  repeated.  "  We 
shall  see.  I  give  myself  just  five  years  of 
this  '  generosity.'  After  that,  the  beginning 
of  the  end.  I  shall  have  to  eliminate  myself 
from  the  problem,  to  be  finally  generous. 
But  five  years  is  a  good  while,"  she  whis 
pered,  "  to  dare  to  love  my  love  in,  if  my 
love  loves  me." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  this  as  yet. 


THE   CUP   OF  TREMBLING  33 

Esmee  could  afford  to  toy  sentimentally 
with  the  thought  of  future  despair  and  final 
self -eli  mination . 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Waring ;  "  this  will 
never  do ;  we  must  get  some  fresh  air  on 
this."  He  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his 
pipe,  pocketed  it,  and  marched  into  an  inner 
room  whence  he  fetched  a  warm,  loose  cloak 
and  a  pair  of  carriage  boots. 

"  Fresh  air  and  exercise  !  " 

Esmee,  seeing  there  was  to  be  no  escape 
from  Jack's  favorite  specific  for  every 
earthly  ill,  put  out  her  foot,  in  its  foolish 
little  slipper,  and  Jack  drew  on  the  fur-lined 
boots,  and  laced  them  around  the  silken 
ankles. 

He  followed  her  out  into  the  snow-walled 
fosse,  and  fell  into  step  beside  her. 

"  May  I  smoke  ?  " 

"  What  affectation  !  As  if  you  did  n't  al 
ways  smoke." 

"  Well,  hardly,  when  I  have  a  lady  with 
me,  in  such  a  public  place." 

"  Oh  me,  oh  me  !  "  Esm^e  suddenly  broke 
forth,  "  why  did  I  not  meet  you  when  you 
were  in  New  York  the  winter  before  !  Well, 


34  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

it  would  have  settled  one  or  two  things. 
And  we  might  be  walking  like  this  now, 
before  all  the  world,  and  every  one  would 
say  we  were  exactly  suited  to  each  other. 
And  so  we  are  —  fearfully  and  wonderfully. 
Why  did  that  fact  wait  to  force  itself  upon 
us  when  to  admit  it  was  a  crime  ?  And  we 
were  so  helpless  not  to  admit  it.  What  re 
sources  had  I  against  it  ?  " 

"  God  knows.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have 
made  a  better  fight,  for  your  sake.  But  the 
fight  was  over  for  me  the  moment  I  saw  that 
you  were  unhappy.  If  you  had  seemed 
reasonably  content  with  your  life,  or  even 
resigned,  I  hope  I  should  have  been  man 
enough  to  have  taken  myself  off  and  had  it 
out  alone." 

"  I  had  no  life  that  was  not  all  a  pretense 
and  a  lie.  I  began  by  thinking  I  could 
pretend  to  you.  But  you  know  how  all  that 
broke  down.  Oh,  Jack,  you  know  the 
man  ! " 

"  I  would  n't  go  on  with  that,  Esmee." 

"  But  I  must.  I  must  explain  to  you  just 
once,  if  I  can." 

"  You  need  not  explain,  I  should  hope,  to 
me." 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  35 

"  But  this  is  something  that  rankles  fear 
fully.  I  must  tell  you  that  I  never,  never 
would  have  given  in  if  I  hadn't  thought 
there  was  something  in  him,  really.  Even 
his  peculiarities  at  first  seemed  rather  pic 
turesque  ;  at  least  they  were  different  from 
other  men's.  And  we  thought  him  a  great 
original,  a  force,  a  man  of  such  power  and 
capacity.  His  very  success  was  supposed 
to  mean  that.  It  was  not  his  gross  money 
that  appealed  to  me.  You  could  not  think 
that  I  would  have  let  myself  be  literally  sold. 
But  the  money  seemed  to  show  what  he  had 
done.  I  thought  that  at  least  my  husband 
would  be  a  man  among  men,  and  especially 
in  the  West.  But"- 

"  Darling,  need  we  go  into  all  this  ?  Say 
it  to  yourself,  if  it  must  be  said.  You  need 
not  say  it  to  me." 

"  /  am  saying  it,  not  you.  It  is  not  you 
who  have  a  monstrous,  incredible  marriage 
to  explain.  I  must  explain  it  as  far  as  I  can. 
Do  you  think  I  can  afford  to  be  without 
your  respect  and  comprehension  simply  be 
cause  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  But  love  includes  the  rest." . 

"  Not  after  a  while.     Now  let  me  speak. 


36  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

It  was  when  he  brought  me  out  here  that  I 
saw  him  as  he  is.  I  measured  him  by  the 
standards  of  the  life  that  had  made  him.  I 
saw  that  he  was  just  a  rough  Western  man, 
like  hundreds  of  others  ;  not  half  so  pic 
turesque  as  a  good  many  who  passed  the 
window  every  day.  And  all  his  great  suc 
cess,  which  I  had  taken  as  a  proof  of  ability, 
meant  nothing  but  a  stroke  of  brutal  luck 
that  might  happen  to  the  commonest  miner 
any  day.  I  saw  how  you  pretended  to 
respect  his  judgment  while  privately  you 
managed  in  spite  of  it.  I  could  not  help 
seeing  that  he  was  laughed  at  for  his  preten 
sions  in  the  community  that  knew  him  best. 
It  was  tearing  away  the  last  rag  of  self- 
respect  in  which  I  had  been  trying  to  dress 
up  my  shameful  bargain.  I  knew  what  you 
all  thought  of  him,  and  I  knew  what  you 
must  think  of  me.  I  could  not  force  myself 
to  act  my  wretched  part  before  you ;  it 
seemed  a  deeper  degradation  when  you  were 
there  to  see.  How  could  I  let  you  think 
that  that  was  my  idea  of  happiness !  But 
from  the  first  I  never  could  be  anything 
with  you  but  just  myself  —  for  better  or  for 
worse.  It  was  such  a  rest,  such  a  perilous 


THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING  37 

rest,  to  be  with  you,  just  because  I  knew  it 
was  no  use  to  pretend.  You  always  seemed 
to  understand  everything  without  a  word." 

"  I  understood  you  because  I  gave  my 
whole  mind  to  the  business.  You  were  in 
my  thoughts  night  and  day,  from  the  moment 
I  first  saw  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Esmee,  passing  over  this  con 
fession  as  a  thing  of  course  in  a  young  man's 
relations  with  his  employer's  wife.  "It  was 
as  if  we  had  been  dear  friends  once,  before 
memory  began,  before  anything  began  ;  and 
all  the  rest  came  of  the  miserable  accident 
of  our  being  born  —  mis-born,  since  we  could 
not  meet  until  it  was  too  late.  Oh,  it  was 
cruel !  I  can  never  forgive  life,  fate,  society 
—  whatever  it  was  that  played  us  this  trick. 
I  had  the  strangest  forebodings  when  they 
talked  about  you,  before  I  saw  you  —  a 
premonition  of  a  crisis,  a  danger  ahead. 
There  was  a  fascination  in  the  commonest 
reports  about  you.  And  then  your  perfectly 
reckless  naturalness,  of  a  man  who  has 
nothing  to  hide  and  nothing  to  fear.  Who 
on  earth  could  resist  it  ?  " 

"  I  was  the  one  who  ought  to  have  re 
sisted  it,  perhaps.  I  don't  deny  that  I  was 


38  THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

'  natural.'  We  're  neither  of  us  exactly 
humbugs  —  not  now.  If  the  law  that  we  've 
broken  is  hunting  for  us,  there  will  be  plenty 
of  good  people  to  point  us  out.  All  that  we 
shall  have  to  face  by  and  by.  I  wish  I 
could  take  your  share  and  mine  too ;  but 
you  will  always  have  it  the  harder.  That, 
too,  is  part  of  the  law,  I  suppose." 

"  I  must  not  be  too  proud,"  said  Esmee. 
"  I  must  remember  what  I  am  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world.  But,  Jack  dear,  if  Wilfrid 
Knight  does  come,  do  not  let  him  come 
without  telling  me  first.  Don't  let  him 
4  drop  in  on  us,'  as  you  said." 

"  He  shall  not  come  at  all  if  it  bothers 
you  to  think  of  it.  I  am  not  such  a  politic 
fellow.  It 's  for  your  sake,  dearest  one,  that 
I  am  cringing  to  luck  in  this  way.  I  never 
pestered  myself  much  about  making  friends 
and  connections  ;  but  /  must  not  be  too 
proud,  either.  It 's  a  handicap,  there  's  no 
doubt  about  that ;  it 's  wiser  to  accept  the 
fact,  and  go  softly.  Great  heavens  !  have  n't 
I  got  you  ?  " 

"I  suppose  Wilfrid  Knight  is  a  man  of 
the  world  ?  He  '11  know  how  to  spare  the 
situation  ?  " 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  39 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Jack,  with  a  faint  smile. 
"  You  need  n't  be  uneasy  about  him." 
Then,  more  gravely,  he  added  :  — 

"  He  knows  this  is  no  light  thing  with 
either  of  us.  He  must  respect  your  cour 
age  —  the  courage  so  rare  in  a  woman  — 
to  face  a  cruel  mistake  that  all  the  world 
says  she  must  cover  up,  and  right  it  at  any 
cost." 

"  That  is  nonsense,"  said  Esmee,  with  the 
violence  of  acute  sensitiveness.  "  You  need 
not  try  to  doctor  up  the  truth  to  me.  You 
know  that  men  do  not  admire  that  kind  of 
courage  in  women  —  not  in  their  own  women. 
Let  us  be  plain  with  each  other.  I  don't 
pretend  that  I  came  here  with  you  for  the 
sake  of  courage,  or  even  of  honesty." 

Esmee  stopped,  and  turned  herself  about, 
with  her  shoulders  against  the  wall  of  snow, 
crushing  the  back  of  her  head  deep  into  its 
soft,  cold  resistance.  In  this  way  she  gained 
a  glimpse  of  the  sky. 

"  Jack,  it  does  look  like  a  storm.  It 's 
all  over  gray,  is  it  not  ?  and  the  air  is  so 
raw  and  chilly.  I  wish  you  would  not  go 
to-day." 

44 1  '11  get  off  at  once,  and  be  back  before 


40  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

dark.  There  shall  be  no  solo  this  afternoon. 
But  leave  those  dishes  for  me.  I  despise  to 
have  you  wash  dishes." 

"  I  hate  it  myself.  If  I  do  do  it,  it  will 
be  to  preserve  my  self-respect,  and  partly 
because  you  are  so  slow,  Jack  dear,  and 
there 's  no  comfort  in  life  till  you  get 
through.  What  a  ridiculous,  blissful,  squalid 
time  it  is !  Shall  we  ever  do  anything 
natural  and  restful  again,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  when  we  get  some  money." 

"  I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  talk  so  much 
about  money.  Have  I  not  had  enough  of 
money  in  my  life  ?  " 

"  Life  is  more  of  a  problem  with  us  than 
it  is  with  most  people." 

"  Let  us  go  where  nature  solves  the  prob 
lem.  There  was  an  old  song  one  of  my 
nurses  used  to  sing  to  me  — 

'  Oh,  islands  there  are,  in  the  midst  of  the  deep, 
Where  the  leaves  never  fade,  and  the  skies  never  weep.' 

"Can't  we  go,  Jack  dear?  Let  us  be 
South  Sea  Islanders.  Let 's  be  anything 
where  there  will  be  no  dishes  to  wash,  or 
somebody  to  wash  them  for  us." 

"  We  will  go  when  we  get  some  money," 
Jack  persisted  hauntingly. 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  41 

"  Oh,  hush  about  the  money  !  It 's  so  un 
complimentary  of  you.  I  shall  begin  to 
think  "- 

"  You  must  not  think.  Thinking,  after 
a  thing  is  done,  is  no  use.  You  must  '  sleep, 
dear,  sleep.'  I  shall  be  back  before  dark ; 
but  if  I  am  not,  don't  think  it  strange.  One 
never  knows  what  may  happen." 

When  he  was  gone  Esmee  was  seized 
with  a  profound  fit  of  dawdling.  She  sat 
for  an  hour  in  Jack's  deep  leather  chair  by 
the  fire,  her  cloak  thrown  back,  her  feet, 
in  the  fur  boots,  extended  to  the  blaze.  For 
the  first  time  that  day  she  felt  completely 
warm.  She  sat  an  hour  dreaming,  in  per 
fect  physical  content. 

Where  did  those  words  that  Jack  had 
quoted  come  from,  she  mused,  and  repeated 
them  to  herself,  trying  their  sound  by  ear. 

"  Then  sleep,  dear,  sleep !  " 

They  gathered  meaning  from  some  fragmen« 
tary  connection  in  her  memory. 

"  If  thou  wilt  ease  thine  heart 

Of  love,  and  all  its  smart  — 

Then  sleep,  dear,  sleep  ! " 

"  And  not  a  sorrow  "  — 


42  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

She  could  recall  no  more.  The  lines  had 
an  echo  of  Keats.  She  looked  across  the 
room  toward  the  low  shelves  where  Jack's 
books  were  crammed  in  dusty  banishment. 
It  was  not  likely  that  Keats  would  be  in 
that  company ;  yet  Jack,  by  fits  and  starts, 
had  been  a  passionate  reader  of  everybody, 
even  of  the  poets. 

She  was  too  utterly  comfortable  to  be 
willing  to  move  merely  to  lay  the  ghost  of 
a  vanished  song.  And  now  another  verse 
awoke  to  haunt  her  :  — 

"  But  wilt  thou  cure  thine  heart 
Of  love,  and  all  its  smart  — 
Then  die,  dear,  die !  " 

"  'T  is  deeper,  sweeter  "  — 

Than  what  ?  She  could  not  remember.  She 
had  read  the  verses  long  ago,  as  a  girl  of 
twenty  measures  time,  when  the  sentiment 
had  had  for  her  the  palest  meaning.  Now 
she  thought  it  not  extravagant,  but  simply 
true. 

"  Then  die,  dear,  die  !  " 

She  repeated,  pillowing  her  head  in  the  satin 
lining  of  her  cloak.  A  tear  of  self -forgiving 
pity  stole  down  her  cheek.  Love,  —  of  her 


THE   CUP   OF  TREMBLING  43 

own  fair,  sensitive  self ;  love  of  the  one  who 
could  best  express  her  to  herself,  and  mag 
nify  her  day  by  day,  on  the  highest  key  of 
modern  poetic  sympathy  and  primal  passion 
and  mediaeval  romance,  —  this  was  the  whole 
of  life  to  her.  .  She  desired  no  other  revela 
tion  concerning  the  mission  of  woman.  In 
no  other  sense  would  she  have  held  it  worth 
while  to  be  a  woman.  Yet  she,  of  Beauty's 
daughters,  had  been  chosen  for  that  stupid 
est  of  all  the  dull  old  world's  experiments  in 
what  it  calls  success  —  a  loveless  marriage ! 

When  at  length  the  fire  went  down,  and 
the  air  of  the  draughty  room  grew  cool,  Es- 
mee  languidly  bestirred  herself.  The  con 
fusion  that  Jack  had  left  behind  him  hi  his 
belated  departure  began  to  afflict  her  —  the 
unwashed  dishes  on  the  table,  the  crumbs  on 
the  floor,  the  half-emptied  pipe  and  ashes  on 
the  mantel,  the  dust  everywhere.  She  pitied 
herself  that  she  had  no  one  at  her  command 
to  set  things  right.  At  length  she  rose, 
reluctantly  dispensing  with  her  cloak,  but 
keeping  the  fur  boots  on  her  feet,  and  began 
to  pile  up  the  breakfast  dishes,  and  carry 
them  by  separate  journeys  to  the  kitchen. 

The  fire  had  long  been  out  in  the  cook- 


44  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

stove  ;  the  bare  little  place  was  distressingly 
cold  ;  neither  was  it  particularly  clean,  and 
the  nature  of  its  disorder  was  even  more 
objectionable  than  that  of  the  sitting-room. 
Poor  Jack !  Esmee  had  profoundly  admired 
and  pitied  his  struggles  with  the  kitchen. 
What  man  of  Jack's  type  and  breeding  had 
ever  stood  such  a  test  of  devotion?  Even 
young  Sir  Gareth,  who  had  done  the  same 
sort  of  thing,  had  done  it  for  knighthood's 
sake,  and  had  taken  pride  in  the  ordeal. 
With  Jack  such  service  counted  for  nothing 
except  as  a  preposterous  proof  of  his  love 
for  her. 

Suppose  she  should  surprise  him  in  house 
wifely  fashion,  and  treat  him  to  a  clean 
kitchen,  a  bright  fire,  and  a  hot  supper  on 
his  return  ?  The  fancy  was  a  pleasing  one  ; 
but  when  she  came  to  reckon  up  the  un 
avoidable  steps  to  its  accomplishment,  the 
details  were  too  hopelessly  repellent.  She 
did  not  know,  in  fact,  where  or  how  to  be 
gin.  She  mused  forlornly  on  their  present 
situation,  which,  of  course,  could  not  last; 
but  what  would  come  next  ?  Surely,  with 
out  money,  plucked  of  the  world's  respect 
and  charity,  they  were  a  helpless  pair.  Jack 


THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING  45 

was  right ;  money  they  must  have ;  and  she 
must  learn  to  keep  her  scruples  out  of  his 
way ;  he  was  sufficiently  handicapped  al 
ready.  She  hovered  about  the  scene  of  his 
labors  for  a  while,  mourning  over  him,  and 
over  herself  for  being  so  helpless  to  help 
him.  By  this  time  the  sitting-room  fire 
had  gone  quite  down  ;  she  put  on  a  pair  of 
gloves  before  raking  out  the  coals  and 
laying  the  wood  to  rebuild  it.  The  room 
had  still  a  comfortless  air,  now  that  she  was 
alone  to  observe  it.  She  could  have  wept 
as  she  went  about,  moving  chairs,  lifting 
heavy  bearskins,  and  finding  dirt,  ever  more 
dirt,  that  had  accumulated  under  Jack's 
superficial  housekeeping. 

Her  timid  attempt  at  sweeping  raised  a 
hideous  dust.  When  she  tried  to  open  the 
windows  every  one  was  frozen  fast,  and 
when  she  opened  the  door  the  cold  air  cut 
her  like  a  knife. 

She  gave  up  trying  to  overhaul  Jack's 
back  accounts,  and  contented  herself  with 
smoothing  things  over  on  the  surface.  She 
possessed  in  perfection  the  decorative  touch 
that  lends  an  outward  grace  to  the  aspect 
of  a  room  which  may  be  inwardly  unclean, 


46  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

and  therefore  unwholesome,  for  those  who 
live  in  it. 

It  had  never  been  required  of  her  that 
she  should  be  anything  but  beautiful  and 
amiable,  or  do  anything  but  contribute  her 
beauty  and  amiability  to  the  indulgent  world 
around  her.  The  hard  work  was  for  those 
who  had  nothing  else  to  bestow.  She  laid 
Jack's  slippers  by  the  fire,  and,  with  fond 
coquetry,  placed  a  pair  of  her  own  little 
mouse-colored  suedes,  sparkling  with  silver 
embroidery,  close  beside  them.  Her  velvet 
wrap  with  its  collar  of  ostrich  plumes  she 
disposed  effectively  over  the  back  of  the 
hardwood  settle,  where  the  shimmering  satin 
lining  caught  a  red  gleam  from  the  fire. 
Then  she  locked  the  outer  door,  and  pre 
pared  to  take  Jack's  advice,  and  "  sleep, 
dear,  sleep." 

At  the  door  of  her  bedroom  she  turned 
for  a  last  survey  of  the  empty  room  —  the 
room  that  would  live  in  her  memory  as  the 
scene  of  this  most  fateful  chapter  of  her 
life.  That  day,  she  suddenly  remembered, 
was  her  younger  sister's  wedding-day.  She 
would  not  permit  the  thoughts  to  come. 
All  weddings,  since  her  own,  were  hateful 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  47 

to  her.  "  Hush  !  "  she  inwardly  breathed, 
to  quell  her  heart.  "  The  thing  was  done. 
All  that  was  left  was  dishonor,  either  wayl 
This  is  my  plea,  O  God!  There  was  no 
escape  from  shame  !  And  Jack  loved  me 
so !  " 

About  five  o'clock  of  that  dark  winter 
day  Esmee  was  awakened  from  her  warm 
sleep  by  a  loud  knocking  on  the  outside 
door.  It  could  not  be  Jack,  for  he  had 
carried  with  him  the  key  of  the  kitchen 
door,  by  which  way  he  always  entered  on 
his  return.  It  was  understood  between 
them  that  in  his  absences  no  stranger  could 
be  admitted  to  the  house.  Guests  they  did 
not  look  for ;  as  to  friends,  they  knew  not 
who  their  friends  were,  or  if,  indeed,  they 
had  any  friends  remaining  since  their  flight. 

The  knocking  continued,  with  pauses  dur 
ing  which  Esmee  cooild  fancy  the  knocker 
outside  listening  for  sounds  within  the  house. 
Her  heart  beat  hard  and  fast.  She  had  half 
risen  in  her  bed ;  at  intervals  she  drew  a 
deep  breath,  and  shifted  her  weight  on  its 
supporting  arm. 

Footsteps  could  be  heard  passing  and  re- 
passing  the  length  of  the  trench  in  front  of 


48  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

the  house.  They  ceased,  and  presently  a 
man  jumped  down  into  the  pit  outside  her 
bedroom  window;  the  window  was  cur 
tained,  but  she  was  aware  that  he  was  there, 
trying  to  look  in.  He  laid  his  hand  on 
the  window-frame,  and  leaped  upon  the  sill, 
and  shook  the  sash,  endeavoring  to  raise  it ; 
but  the  blessed  frost  held  it  fast.  The  man 
had  a  dog  with  him,  that  trotted  after  him, 
back  and  forth,  and  seconded  his  efforts  to 
gain  entrance  by  leaping  against  the  door, 
and  whining,  and  scratching  at  the  lock. 

The  girl  was  unspeakably  alarmed,  there 
was  something  so  imperative  in  the  stranger's 
demand.  It  had  for  her  startled  ear  an  aw 
ful  assurance,  as  who  should  say,  "  I  have  a 
right  to  enter  here."  Who  was  it,  what  was 
it,  knocking  at  the  door  of  that  guilty  house  ? 

It  seemed  to  Esmee  that  this  unappeas 
able  presence  had  haunted  the  place  for  an 
hour  or  more,  trying  windows,  and  going 
from  door  to  door.  At  length  came  silence 
so  prolonged  and  complete  that  she  thought 
herself  alone  at  last. 

But  Jack's  brother  had  not  gone.  He 
was  standing  close  to  the  window  of  the 
outer  room,  studying  its  interior  in  the 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  49 

strong  light  and  shadow  of  a  pitch-pine  fire. 
The  room  was  confiding  its  history  to  one 
who  was  no  stranger  to  its  earlier  chapters, 
and  was  keen  for  knowledge  of  the  rest. 

This  was  Jack's  house,  beyond  a  doubt, 
and  Jack  was  its  tenant  at  this  present  time, 
its  daily  intimate  inhabitant.  In  this  sense 
the  man  and  his  house  were  one. 

The  Dreadnaught  had  been  Jack's  first 
important  mining  venture.  In  it  he  had  sunk 
his  share  of  his  father's  estate,  consider 
able  time  and  reputation,  and  the  best  work 
he  was  capable  of  ;  and  he  still  maintained, 
in  accordance  with  his  temperament,  that 
the  mine  was  a  good  mine,  only  present  con 
ditions  would  not  admit  of  the  fact  being 
demonstrated.  The  impregnable  nature  of 
its  isolation  made  it  a  convenient  cache  for 
personal  properties  that  he  had  no  room  for 
in  his  quarters  in  town,  the  beloved  impedi 
menta  that  every  man  of  fads  and  enthu 
siasms  accumulates  even  in  a  rolling-stone 
existence.  He  was  all  there:  it  was  Jack 
so  frankly  depicted  in  his  belongings  that 
his  young  brother,  who  adored  him,  sighed 
restlessly,  and  a  blush  of  mingled  emotions 
rose  in  his  snow-chilled  cheek. 


50  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

What  reminder  is  so  characteristic  of  a 
man  as  the  shoes  he  has  lately  put  off  his 
feet  ?  And,  by  token,  there  were  Jack's 
old  pumps  waiting  for  him  by  the  fire. 

But  now  suspicion  laid  its  finger  on  that 
very  unnamed  dread  which  had  been  lurk 
ing  in  the  young  man's  thoughts.  Jack, 
the  silent  room  confessed,  was  not  living 
here  alone.  This  could  hardly t  be  called 
"  baching  it,"  with  a  pair  of  frail  little 
feminine  slippers  moored  close  beside  his 
own.  Where  had  Jack's  feet  been  straying 
lately, — on  what  forbidden  ground,  —  that 
his  own  brother  must  be  kept  in  ignorance 
of  such  a  step  as  this  ?  If  he  had  been 
mad  enough  to  fetch  a  bride  to  such  an 
inhuman  solitude  as  this,  —  if  this  were 
Jack's  lawful  honeymoon,  why  should  his 
bliss  be  hedged  about  with  an  awkward 
conspiracy  of  silence  on  the  part  of  all  his 
friends  ? 

The  silent  room  summoned  its  witnesses ; 
one  by  one  each  mute,  inanimate  object  told 
its  story.  The  firelight  questioned  them 
in  scornful  flashes ;  the  defensive  shadows 
tried  to  confuse  the  evidence,  and  cover  it 
up. 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  51 

But  there  were  the  conscious  slippers  red 
dening  by  the  hearth.  The  costly  Paris 
wrap  displayed  itself  over  the  back  of  Jack's 
honest  hardwood  settle.  On  the  rough 
table,  covered  with  a  blanket  wrought  by 
the  hands  of  an  Indian  squaw,  glimpsed  a 
gilded  fan,  half-open,  showing  court  ladies, 
dressed  as  shepherdesses,  blowing  kisses  to 
their  ephemeral  swains.  Faded  hot-house 
roses  were  hanging  their  heads  —  shriveled 
packets-  of  sweetness  —  against  the  brown 
sides  of  a  pot-bellied  tobacco-jar,  the  lid  of 
which,  turned  upside  down,  was  doing  duty 
as  an  ash-receiver.  A  box  of  rich  confec 
tionery  imported  from  the  East  had  been 
emptied  into  a  Dresden  bowl  of  a  delicate, 
frigid  pattern,  reminding  one  of  such  pure 
bred  gentlewomen  as  Jack's  little  mother, 
from  whom  he  had  coaxed  this  bit  of  the 
family  china  on  his  last  home  visit. 

We  do  not  dress  up  our  brother's  obli 
quity  in  euphemistic  phrases;  Jack  might 
call  it  what  he  pleased  ;  but  not  the  common 
est  man  that  knew  him  had  been  willing  to 
state  in  plain  words  the  manner  of  his  life 
at  present,  snowed  in  at  the  top  of  the 
Dreadnauo-ht  road.  Behold  how  that  life 


52  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

spoke  for  itself :  how  his  books  were  covered 
with  dust ;  how  the  fine,  manly  rigor  of  the 
room  had  been  debased  by  contact  with  the 
habits  of  a  luxurious  dependent  woman  ! 

Here  Jack  was  wasting  life  in  idleness, 
in  self-banishment,  in  inordinate  affections 
and  deceits  of  the  flesh.  The  brother  who 
loved  him  too  well  to  be  lenient  to  his  weak 
ness  turned  away  with  a  groan  of  such  in 
dignant  heartbreak  as  only  the  young  can 
know.  Only  the  young  and  the  pure  in 
heart  can  have  such  faith  in  anything  hu 
man  as  Jack's  brother  had  had  in  Jack. 

Esmee,  reassured  by  the  long-continued 
silence,  had  ventured  out,  and  now  stepped 
cautiously  forward  into  the  broad,  low  light 
in  the  middle  of  the  room.  The  fireshine 
touched  her  upraised  chin,  her  parted  lips, 
and  a  spark  floated  in  each  of  her  large, 
dark,  startled  eyes.  Tip  had  been  watch 
ing  as  breathless  and  as  motionless  as  his 
companion,  but  now  at  sight  of  Esmee  he 
bounded  against  the  sash,  and  squealed  his 
impatience  to  be  let  in.  Esmee  shrank 
back  with  a  cry ;  her  hands  went  up  to  her 
breast  and  clasped  themselves.  She  had 
seen  the  face  at  the  window.  Her  attitude 


THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING  53 

was  the  instinctive  expression  of  her  con 
victed  presence  in  that  house.  And  the 
excluded  pair  who  watched  her  were  her 
natural  judges :  Fidelity  that  she  had  out 
raged,  and  Family  Affection  that  she  had 
wronged. 

Tip  made  further  demonstrations  at  the 
window,  but  Esmee  had  dragged  herself 
away  out  of  sight  into  her  own  room. 

The  steps  of  the  knocker  were  heard,  a 
few  minutes  later,  wandering  irresolutely  up 
and  down  the  trench.  For  the  last  time 
they  paused  at  the  door. 

"  Shall  we  knock  once  more,  Tip?  Shall 
we  give  her  one  more  chance  ?  She  has  seen 
that  I  am  no  ruffian ;  she  knows  that  you 
are  a  friend.  Now  if  she  is  an  honest 
woman  let  her  show  herself  !  For  the  last 
time,  then ! " 

A  terrific  peal  of  knocking  shocked  the 
silence.  Esmee  could  have  screamed,  there 
was  an  accent  so  scornfully  accusative  in 
this  last  ironical  summons.  No  answer  was 
possible.  The  footsteps  turned  away  from 
the  door,  and  did  not  come  back. 


54  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

II 

The  snow  that  had  begun  to  fall  softly 
and  quietly  about  the  middle  of  the  after 
noon  had  steadily  increased  until  now  in  the 
thickening  dusk  it  spread  a  white  blindness 
everywhere.  From  her  bedroom  window 
Esmee  looked  out,  and  though  she  could  not 
see  the  sky,  there  were  signs  enough  to  tell 
her  what  the  coming  night  would  be. 
Fresh  snow  lay  piled  in  the  trench,  and 
snow  was  whirling  in.  The  blast  outside 
wailed  in  the  chimney,  and  shook  the  house, 
and  sifted  snow  in  beneath  the  outer  door. 

Esmee  was  not  surprised  that  Jack,  when 
he  came  home,  should  be  as  dismal  and 
quiet  as  she  was  herself;  but  it  did  surprise 
her  that  he  should  not  at  once  perceive  that 
something  had  happened  in  his  absence. 

At  first  there  was  supper  to  cook,  and 
she  could  not  talk  to  him  then.  Later, 
when  they  were  seated  together  at  the  table, 
she  tried  to  speak  of  that  ghostly  knocking . 
but  Jack  seemed  preoccupied  and  not  in 
clined  to  talk,  and  she  was  glad  of  an  ex 
cuse  to  postpone  a  subject  that  had  for  her 
a  peculiar  terror  in  its  suggestions. 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  55 

It  was  nine  o'clock  before  all  the  little 
house  tasks  were  done,  and  they  drew  up 
to  the  fire,  seeking  in  each  other's  eyes  the 
assurance  that  both  were  in  need  of,  that 
nothing  of  their  dear-bought  treasure  of 
companionship  had  altered  since  they  had 
sat  that  way  before.  But  it  was  not  quite 
the  same  Esmee,  nor  the  same  Jack.  They 
were  not  thinking  exclusively  of  each  other. 

"  Why  don't  you  read  your  letters, 
dear?" 

"  I  can't  read  them,"  said  Esmee. 
"  They  were  not  written  to  me  —  the 
woman  I  am  now." 

These  were  the  home  letters,  telling  of 
her  sister's  coming  wedding  festivities,  that 
Esmee  could  not  read,  especially  that  one 
from  Lilla  —  her  last  letter  as  a  girl  to  the 
sister  who  had  been  a  bride  herself,  and 
would  know  what  a  girl's  feelings  at  such  a 
time  must  be. 

"  I  have  tried  to  write  to  mama,"  said  Es 
mee  ;  "  but  it 's  impossible.  Anything  I 
could  say  by  way  of  defense  sounds  as  if  I 
were  trying  to  lay  the  blame  on  some  one 
else  ;  and  if  I  say  nothing,  but  just  state 
the  facts,  it  is  harsh,  as  if  I  were  brazening 


56  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

it  out.  And  she  has  never  seen  you,  Jack. 
You  are  my  only  real  defense.  By  what 
you  are,  by  what  you  will  be  to  me,  I  am 
willing  to  be  judged." 

"  Dearest,  you  make  me  ashamed,  but  I 
can  say  the  same  of  you.  Still,  to  a  mother, 
I  'm  afraid  it  will  make  little  difference 
whether  it 's  '  Launcelot  or  another.'  " 

"  It  certainly  made  little  difference  to  her 
when  she  made  her  choice  of  a  husband  for 
me,"  said  Esmee,  bitterly.  One  by  one  she 
dropped  the  sheets  of  her  letters  in  the  fire, 
and  watched  them  burn  to  ashes. 

"  When  they  know  —  if  they  ever  write 
to  me  after  that,  I  will  read  those  letters. 
These  have  no  meaning."  They  had  too 
much  meaning,  was  what  Esmee  should  have 
said. 

After  a  silence  Jack  spoke  somewhat 
hoarsely :  "  It 's  a  beastly  long  time  since  I 
have  written  to  any  of  my  people.  It 's  a 
pity  I  did  n't  write  and  tell  them  something ; 
it  might  have  saved  trouble.  But  how  can 
a  fellow  write  ?  I  got  a  letter  to-day  from 
my  brother  Sid.  Says  he's  thinking  of 
coming  out  here." 

"  Heaven  save  us !  "  cried  Esmee.      "  Do 


THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING  57 

write  at  once  —  anything  —  say  anything 
you  like." 

Jack  smiled  drearily.  "  I  'm  afraid  it 's 
too  late.  In  fact,  the  letter  was  written  the 
day  before  he  was  to  start,  and  it 's  dated 
January  25.  There  's  a  rumor  that  some 
one  is  in  town,  now,  looking  for  me.  I 
should  n't  be  surprised  if  it  were  Sid." 

"  What  if  it  were  ?  "  asked  Esmee. 
"  What  could  you  do  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  indeed,"  said  Jack. 
"  I  'm  awfully  cut  up  about  it.  The  worst 
of  it  is,  I  asked  him  to  come." 

"  You  asked  him  !  " 

"  Some  time  ago,  dearest,  when  every 
thing  was  different.  I  thought  I  must 
make  the  fight  for  both  our  sakes,  and 'I 
sent  for  Sid,  thinking  it  might  help  to  have 
him  here  with  me." 

"Did  you  indeed,"  said  Esmee,  coldly. 
"  What  a  pity  he  did  not  come  before  it  was 
too  late;  he  might  have  saved  us  both. 
How  long  ago  was  it,  please  ?  " 

"  Esmee,  don't  speak  to  me  like  that." 

"  But  do  you  realize  what  you  are  say- 
ing?" 

"  You    should    not    mind    what   I    say. 


58  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

Think  —  what  shall  we  do  if  it  should  be 
Sid?  It  rests  with  you,  Esmee.  Could 
you  bear  to  meet  him  ?  " 

"  What  is  he  like  ?  "  said  Esmee,  trem 
bling. 

"  Oh,  he  's  a  lovely  fellow.  There 's  no 
body  like  Sid." 

"  What  does  he  look  like  ?  " 

"  He  's  good-looking,  of  course,  being  my 
brother,"  said  Jack,  with  a  wretched  attempt 
at  pleasantry,  which  met  with  no  response. 
Esmee  was  staring  at  him,  a  strange  terror 
in  her  eyes.  "  But  there  is  more  to  his 
looks,  somehow,  than  to  most  pretty  boys. 
People  who  are  up  in  such  things  say  he's 
like  the  Saint  George,  or  Saint  Somebody, 
by  Donatello.  He's  blond,  you  know; 
he's  as  fresh  as  a  girl,  but  he  has  an 
uncommonly  set  look  at  times,  when  he's 
serious  or  a  bit  disgusted  about  something. 
He  has  a  set  in  his  temper,  too.  I  should 
not  care  to  have  Sid  hear  our  story  —  not 
till  after  he  had  seen  you,  Esmee.  Perhaps 
even  then  he  could  not  understand.  He 
has  never  loved  a  woman,  except  his  mother. 
He  does  n't  know  what  a  man's  full-grown 
passion  means.  At  least,  I  don't  think  he 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  59 

knows.  He  was  rather  fiercely  moral  on 
some  points  when  I  talked  to  him  last ;  a 
little  bit  inhuman  — what  is  it,  Esmee  ?  " 

"  There  is  that  dog  again  !  " 

Jack  looked  at  her  in  surprise  at  her 
shocked  expression.  Every  trace  of  color 
had  left  her  face.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  door. 

"  What  dog  ?     Why,  it 's  Tip." 

A  creature  as  white  as  the  storm  sprang 
into  the  room  as  he  opened  the  door,  threw 
himself  upon  Jack,  and  whimpered  and 
groaned  and  shivered,  and  seemed  to 
weep  with  joy.  Jack  hugged  him,  laughing, 
and  then  threw  him  off,  and  dusted  the  snow 
from  his  clothing. 

Tip  shook  himself,  and  came  back  excit 
edly  for  more  recognition  from  his  master. 
He  took  no  notice  at  all  of  Esmee. 

"  Speak  to  him,  won't  you,  dear  ?  It 's 
only  manners,  even  if  you  don't  care  for 
him,"  Jack  prompted  gently.  But  Tip 
refused  to  accept  Esmee's  sad,  perfunctory 
greeting  ;  his  countenance  changed,  he  held 
aloof,  glancing  at  her  with  an  unpleasant 
gleam  in  his  bloodshot  eyes. 

He  had  satisfied  the  cravings  of  affection, 


60  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

and  now  made  it  plain  that  his  visit  was  on 
business  that  demanded  his  master's  atten 
tion  outside  of  the  house.  Jack  knew  the 
creature's  intelligent  ways  so  well  that 
speech  was  hardly  needed  between  them. 
"  What 's  the  racket,  Tip  ?  What 's  wrong 
out  there  ?  No,  sir ;  I  don't  go  back  to 
town  with  you  to-night,  sir.  Not  much. 
Lie  down !  Be  quiet,  idiot !  " 

But  Tip  stood  at  the  door,  and  began  to 
whine,  fixing  his  eyes  on  his  master's  face. 
As  nothing  came  of  this,  he  went  back  and 
stood  in  front  of  him,  wagging  his  tail 
heavily  and  slowly ;  troubled  wrinkles  stood 
out  over  his  beseeching  eyes. 

"  What  under  heaven  's  the  matter  with 
you,  dog  ?  You  're  a  regular  funeral  pro 
cession."  Jack  shoved  the  creature  from 
him,  and  again  he  took  up  his  station  at  the 
door.  Jack  rose,  and  opened  it,  and  play 
fully  tried  to  push  him  out.  Tip  stood  his 
ground,  always  with  his  eyes  on  his  mas 
ter's  face,  and  whimpered  under  his  breath 
with  almost  tearful  meaning. 

"  He 's  on  duty  to-night,"  said  Jack. 
"  He 's  got  something  on  his  mind,  and 
he  wants  me  to  help  him  out  with  it.  I 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  61 

say,  old  chap,  we  don't  keep  a  life-saving 
station  up  here.  Get  out  with  your  non 
sense." 

"  There  wasi  some  one  with  him  when  he 
was  here  this  afternoon,"  Esmee  forced  her 
self  to  say. 

"  Has  Tip  been  here  before  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jack.  But  a  man  was  with  him 
—  a  young,  strange  man.  It  was  about 
four  o'clock,  perhaps  five  ;  it  was  getting 
dusk.  I  had  been  asleep,  and  I  was  so 
frightened.  He  knocked  and  knocked.  I 
thought  he  would  never  stop  knocking.  He 
came  to  my  window,  and  tried  to  get  in,  but 
the  sash  was  frozen  fast."  Esmee  paused, 
and  caught  her  breath.  "And  I  heard  a 
dog  scratching  and  whining." 

"  Did  you  not  see  the  man  ?  " 

"I  did.  I  saw  him,"  gasped  Esmee. 
"  It  was  all  quiet  after  a  while.  I  thought 
he  had  gone.  I  came  out  into  the  room, 
and  there  he  stood  close  by  that  window, 
staring  in  ;  and  the  dog  was  with  him.  It 
was  Tip." 

"  And  you  did  not  open  the  door  to 
Tip  ?  " 

"  Jack  dear,  have  you  not  told  me  that  I 


62 

was  never  to  open  the  door  when  you  were 
away?" 

"  But  did  n't  you  speak  to  the  man  ? 
Did  n't  you  ask  him  who  he  was  or  what  he 
wanted  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  ?  He  did  not  speak  to 
me.  He  stared  at  me  as  if  I  were  a  ghost, 
and  then  he  went  away." 

"  I  would  have  questioned  any  man  that 
came  here  with  Tip.  Tip  does  n't  take  up 
with  toughs  and  hobos.  What  was  he  like  ?  " 

Esmee  had  retreated  under  this  cross- 
questioning,  and  stood  at  some  distance  from 
Jack,  pale,  and  trembling  with  an  ague  of 
the  nerves. 

"  What  was  he  like  ?  "  Jack  repeated. 

"  He  was  most  awfully  beautiful.  He 
had  a  face  like  —  like  a  death-angel." 

Jack  rejected  this  phrase  with  an  impa 
tient  gesture.  "Was  he  fair,  with  blue 
eyes,  and  a  little  blond  mustache  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  The  light  was  not  good. 
He  stood  close  to  the  window,  or  I  could 
not  have  seen  him.  What  have  I  done  ? 
Was  it  wrong  not  to  open  the  door  ? ' " 

"Never  mind  about  that,  Esmee.  1 
want  you  to  describe  the  man." 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  63 

"  I  can't  describe  him.  I  don't  need  to. 
I  know  —  I  know  it  was  your  brother." 

"  It  must  have  been ;  and  we  have  been 
sitting  here  —  how  many  hours  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  there  could  be  anybody 
—  who  —  had  a  right  to  come  in." 

"  Such  a  night  as  this  ?    Get  away,  Tip !  " 

Jack  had  risen,  and  thrown  off  his  coat. 
Esmee  saw  him  get  down  his  snow-shoe  rig. 
He  pulled  on  a  thick  woolen  jersey,  and 
buttoned  his  reefer  over  that.  His  foot 
gear  was  drying  by  the  fire ;  he  put  on  a 
pair  of  German  stockings,  and  fastened  them 
below  the  knee,  and  over  these  the  India- 
rubber  buskins  which  a  snow-shoer  wears. 

"Tip  had  better  have  something  to  eat 
before  we  start,"  he  suggested.  He  did 
not  look  at  Esmee,  but  his  manner  to  her 
was  very  gentle  and  forbearing ;  it  cut  her 
more  than  harsh  words  and  unreasonable 
reproaches  would  have  done. 

"  He  seems  to  think  that  I  have  done  it," 
she  said  to  herself,  with  the  instinct  of  self- 
defense  which  will  always  come  first  with 
timid  natures. 

Tip  would  not  touch  the  food  she  brought 
him.  She  followed  him  about  the  room 


64  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

meekly,  with  the  plate  in  her  hand ;  but  he 
shrunk  away,  lifting  his  lip,  and  showing 
the  whites  of  his  blood-rimmed  eyes. 

Except  for  this  defect,  the  sequel  of  dis 
temper  or  some  other  of  the  ills  of  puppy- 
hood,  Tip  had  been  a  good-looking  dog. 
But  this  accident  of  his  appearance  had 
prejudiced  Esmee  against  him  at  the  first 
sight.  Later  he  had  made  her  dislike  and 
fear  him  by  a  habit  he  had  of  dogging  his 
master  to  her  door,  and  waiting  there,  out 
side,  like  Jack's  discarded  conscience.  If 
chidden,  or  invited  to  come  in,  the  unac 
countable  creature  would  skulk  away,  only  to 
return  and  take  up  his  post  of  dumb  witness 
as  before ;  so  that  no  one  who  watched  the 
movements  of  Jack's  dog  could  fail  to  know 
how  Jack  bestowed  his  time.  In  this  man 
ner  Esmee  had  come  almost  to  hate  the  dog, 
and  Tip  returned  her  feeling  in  his  heart, 
though  he  was  restrained  from  showing  it. 
But  to-night  there  was  a  new  accusation  in 
his  gruesome  eye. 

"  He  will  not  eat  for  me,"  said  Esmee, 
humbly. 

"  He  must  eat,"  said  Jack.  "  Here,  down 
with  it !  "  The  dog  clapped  his  jaws  on  the 


THE   CUP  OF  TREMBLING  65 

meat  his  master  threw  to  him,  and  stood 
ready,  without  a  change  of  countenance,  at 
the  door. 

"  Can't  you  say  that  you  forgive  me  ? " 
Esmee  pleaded. 

"  Forgive  you  ?  Who  am  I,  to  be  for 
giving  people  ?  "  Jack  answered  hoarsely. 

"But  say  it  —  say  it!  It  was  your 
brother.  If  it  had  been  mine,  I  could  for 
give  you." 

"  Esmee,  you  don't  see  it  as  it  is." 

"  I  do  see  it ;  but,  Jack,  you  said  that  I 
was  not  to  open  the  door." 

"  Well,  you  did  n't  open  it,  did  you  ?  So 
it 's  all  right.  But  there 's  a  man  out  hi  the 
snow,  somewhere,  that  I  have  got  to  find,  if 
Tip  can  show  me  where  he  is.  Come,  Tip !  " 

"  Oh,  Jack !  You  will  not  go  without " — 
Jack  turned  his  back  to  the  door,  and  held 
out  his  arms.  Esmee  cast  herself  into  them, 
and  he  kissed  her  in  bitter  silence,  and  went 
out. 

These  two  were  seated  together  again  by 
the  fire  in  the  same  room.  It  was  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  but  as  dark  as  mid 
night.  The  floor  in  spots  was  wet  with 


66  THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

melted  snow.  They  spoke  seldom,  in  low, 
tired  voices ;  it  was  generally  Esmee  who 
spoke.  They  had  not  been  weeping,  but 
their  faces  were  changed  and  grown  old. 
Jack  shivered,  and  kept  feeding  the  fire. 
On  the  bed  in  the  adjoining  room,  cold  as 
the  snow  in  a  deserted  nest,  lay  their  first 
guest,  whom  no  house  fire  would  ever  warm. 

"  I  cannot  believe  it.  I  cannot  take  it 
in.  Are  you  sure  there  is  nothing  more  we 
could  do  that  a  doctor  would  do  if  we  had 
one?" 

"  We  have  done  everything.  It  was  too 
late  when  I  found  him." 

"  How  is  it  possible  ?  I  have  heard  of 
persons  lost  for  days  —  and  this  was  only 
such  a  few  hours." 

"  A  few*  hours !  Good  God,  Esmee ! 
Come  out  with  me,  and  stand  five  minutes 
in  this  storm,  if  you  can.  And  he  had 
been  on  snow-shoes  all  day ;  he  had  come 
all  the  way  up-hill  from  town.  He  had  had 
no  rest,  and  nothing  to  eat.  And  then  to 
turn  about,  and  take  it  worse  than  ever  I  " 

"  It  is  an  impossible  thing,  "  she  reiter 
ated.  "  I  am  crazy  when  I  think  of  it." 

Tip  lifted   his   head   uneasily,  rose,  and 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  67 

tapped  about  the  room,  his  long-nailed  toes 
rattling-  on  the  un  carpeted  floor.  He 
paused,  and  licked  up  one  of  the  pools  of 
melted  snow.  "  Stop  that !  "  Jack  com 
manded.  There  was  dead  silence.  Then 
Tip  began  again  »his  restless  march  about 
the  room,  pausing  at  the  bedroom  door  to 
whine  his  questioning  distress. 

"  Can't  you  make  him  stay  in  the 
kitchen  ?  "  Esmee  suggested  timidly. 

"It  is  cold  in  the  kitchen.  Tip  has 
earned  his  place  by  my  fire  as  long  as  I 
shall  have  one,"  said  Jack,  emphatically. 

Down  fell  some  crashing  object,  and  was 
shivered  on  the  floor.  The  dog  sprang  up, 
and  howled ;  Esmee  trembled  like  a  leaf. 

"  It 's  only  your  little  looking-glass,"  she 
whispered.  There  was  no  mystery  in  its 
having  fallen  in  such  a  wind  from  the  pro 
jecting  log  where  Esmee,  with  more  confi 
dence  than  judgment,  had  propped  it. 

In  silence  both  recalled  the  light  words  that 
had  passed  when  Jack  had  taken  it  ^down 
from  its  high  nail,  saying  that  the  mirrors 
in  his  establishment  had  not  been  hung 
with  reference  to  persons  of  her  size ;  and 
Esmee  could  see  the  picture  they  had  made, 


68  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

putting  their  heads  together  before  it,  Jack 
stooping,  with  his  hands  on  her  shoulders, 
to  bring  his  face  in  line  with  hers.  Those 
laughing  faces !  All  smiles,  all  tremulous 
mirth  in  that  house  had  vanished  as  the  re 
flections  in  a  shattered  mirror. 

Jack  got  up,  and  fetched  a  broom,  and 
swept  the  clinking  fragments  into  the  fire. 
The  frame  he  broke  in  two  and  tossed  after 
them. 

"  Call  me  as  soon  as  it  is  light  enough  to 
start,"  he  said  to  Esmee. 

"  But  not  unless  it  has  stopped  snow- 
ing?" 

"  Call  me  as  soon  as  it  is  light,  please," 
Jack  repeated.  He  stumbled  as  he  walked, 
like  an  old  man.  Esmee  followed  him  into 
the  drear  little  kitchen,  where  a  single 
candle  on  the  table  was  guttering  in  the 
draft.  The  windows  were  blank  with  frost, 
the  boards  cracked  with  the  cold.  Esmee 
helped  prepare  him  a  bed  on  a  rude  bunk 
against  the  wall,  and  Jack  threw  himself 
down  on  his  pallet,  and  closed  his  eyes, 
without  speaking.  Esmee  stood  watching 
him  in  silence  a  moment ;  then  she  fell  on 
her  knees  beside  him  on  the  floor. 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  69 

"  Say  that  you  can  forgive  me !  How 
shall  I  bear  it  all  alone !  " 

At  first  Jack  made  no  answer;  he  could 
not  speak ;  his  breath  came  deep  and  hard. 
Then  he  rose  on  one  elbow,  and  looked  at 
her  with  great  stern  eyes. 

"  Have  I  accused  you  ?  You  did  not  do 
it.  I  did  not  do  it.  It  happened  —  to 
show  us  what  we  are.  We  have  broken 
with  all  the  ties  of  family.  We  can  have 
no  brother  or  sister  —  our  brothers  and 
sisters  are  the  rebels  like  ourselves;  every 
man  and  woman  whom  society  has  branded 
and  cast  out.  Sooner  or  later  we  shall  em 
brace  them  all.  Nothing  healthy  can  come 
near  us  and  not  take  harm  from  us.  We 
are  contamination  to  women  and  destruction 
to  men.  Poor  Sid  had  better  have  come 
to  a  den  of  thieves  and  murderers  than  to  his 
own  brother's  house  last  night;  yet  we  might 
have  done  him  worse  harm  if  we  had  let  him 
in.  Now  he  is  only  dead  —  clean  and  true, 
as  he  lived.  He  is  dead  through  my  sin*  Do 
you  see,  now,  what  this  means  to  me  ?  " 

"I  see,"  said  Esmee,  rising  from  her 
knees.  She  went  out  of  the  room,  closing 
the  door  gently  between  them. 


70  THE   CUP   OF  TREMBLING 

Jack  lay  stretching  his  aching  muscles  in 
one  position  after  another,  and  every  way 
he  turned  his  thoughts  pursued  him.  The 
brutality  of  his  speech  to  Esmee  wrought  its 
anguish  equally  upon  him,  now  that  it  was 
too  late  to  get  back  a  single  word.  Still, 
she  must  understand,  —  she  would  under 
stand,  when  she  came  to  think  —  how 
broken  up  he  was  in  mind  and  body,  how 
crazed  for  want  of  rest  after  that  horrible 
night's  work.  This  feeling  of  irresponsi 
bility  to  himself  satisfied  him  that  she  could 
not  hold  him  responsible  for  his  words  at 
such  a  time.  The  strain  he  was  supporting, 
mentally  and  physically,  must  absolve  him  if 
she  had  any  consideration  for  him  left. 

So  at  length  he  slept.  Esmee  was  care 
ful  not  to  disturb  him.  She  had  110  need 
of  bodily  rest,  and  the  beating  of  her  heart 
and  the  ceaseless  thinking  went  on  and  on. 

"  I  am  to  be  left  here  alone  with  it " 
she  glanced  toward  the  room  where  the  body 
lay — "  while  he  goes  for  help  to  take  it  to 
town.  He  has  not  asked  me  if  I  can  go 
through  with  this.  If  I  should  say  to  him, 
'  Spare  me  this  awful  trial,'  he  would  an 
swer, —  and  of  course  he  would  be  right, 


THE   CUP   OF  TREMBLING  71 

— '  There  are  only  us  two  ;  one  to  go  and 
one  to  stay.  Is  it  so  much  to  ask  of  you 
after  what  has  happened  ? ' 

"  He  does  not  ask  it ;  he  expects  it.  He 
is  not  my  tender,  remorseful  lover  now, 
dreading  for  me,  every  day,  what  his  happi 
ness  must  cost  me.  He  is  counting  what  I 
have  cost  him  in  other  possessions  which  he 
might  have  had  if  he  had  not  paid  too  great 
a  price  for  one." 

So  these  two  had  come  to  judge  each 
other  in  the  common  misery  that  drove 
them  apart.  Toward  daylight  the  snow 
ceased  and  the  wind  went  down.  Jack  had 
forgotten  to  provide  wood  for  Esmee's  fire ; 
the  room  was  growing  cold,  and  the  wood 
supply  was  in  the  kitchen,  where  he  slept. 
She  sat  still  and  suffered  mutely,  rather 
than  waken  him  before  the  time.  This  was 
not  altogether  consideration  for  him.  It 
was  partly  wounded  pride,  inflicting  its  own 
suffering  on  the  flesh  after  a  moral  scourg 
ing,  either  through  one's  own  or  another's 
conscience. 

When  the  late  morning  slowly  dawned, 
she  went  to  waken  him,  obedient  to  orders. 

She  made  every  effort  to  arouse  him,  but  in 

• 


72  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

vain.  His  sleep  was  like  a  trance.  She 
had  heard  of  cases  of  extreme  mental  and 
physical  strain  where  a  sleep  like  this,  bor 
dering  on  unconsciousness,  had  been  nature's 
cure.  She  let  him  sleep. 

Seeing  that  her  movements  did  not  dis 
turb  him,  she  went  cautiously  about  the 
room,  trying,  now  in  forlorn  sincerity,  to 
adapt  herself  to  the  necessities  of  the  situa 
tion.  She  did  her  best  to  make  ready 
something  in  the  nature  of  a  breakfast  for 
Jack  when  he  should  at  length  awaken.  It 
promised  to  be  a  poor  substitute,  but  the 
effort  did  her  good. 

It  was  after  noon  before  Jack  came  to 
himself.  He  had  been  awake  some  little 
time,  watching  her,  before  she  was  aware 
of  it.  He  could  see  for  himself  what  she 
had  been  trying  to  accomplish,  and  he  was 
greatly  touched. 

"  Poor  child !  "  he  said,  and  held  out  his 
arms. 

She  remained  at  a  distance,  slightly  smil 
ing,  her  eyes  on  the  floor. 

He  did  not  press  the  moment  of  reconcil 
iation.  He  got  upon  his  feet,  and,  in  the 
soldierly  fashion  of  men  who  live  in  camps 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  73 

and  narrow  quarters,  began  to  fold  his 
blankets,  and  straighten  things  in  his  corner 
of  the  room. 

"  If  you  will  go  into  the  sitting-room,  I 
will  bring  in  the  breakfast,  such  as  it  is," 
said  Esmee.  Jack  obeyed  her  meekly. 
The  sitting-room  fire  had  been  relighted, 
and  was  burning  brightly.  It  was  strange 
to  him  to  sit  and  see  her  wait  upon  him. 
Stranger  still  was  her  silence.  Here  was  a 
new  distress.  He  tried  to  pretend  uncon 
sciousness  of  the  change  in  her. 

"  It  is  two  o'clock,"  he  said,  looking  at 
his  watch.  "  I  'm  afraid  I  shall  be  late  get 
ting  back ;  but  you  must  not  worry.  The 
storm  is  over,  and  I  know  every  foot  of  the 
way." 

"  Did  I  do  wrong,"  Esmee  questioned 
nervously,  "  not  to  call  you  ?  I  tried  very 
hard,  but  you  could  not  wake.  You  must 
have  needed  to  sleep,  I  think." 

"  Do  you  expect  me  to  scold  you  every 
time  I  speak,  Esmee  ?  I  have  said  enough, 
I  think.  Come  here,  dear  girl.  I  need  to 
be  forgiven  now.  It  cuts  me  to  the  heart 
to  see  you  so  humble.  May  God  humble 
me  for  those  words  I  said  !  " 


74  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

"  You  spoke  the  truth.  Only  we  had  not 
been  telling  each  other  the  truth  before." 

"  No.  And  we  must  stop  it.  We  shall 
learn  the  truth  fast  enough.  We  need  not 
make  whips  of  it  to  lash  each  other  with. 
Come  here." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Esmee  in  a  choking  whis 
per. 

"  Yes,  you  can.     You  shall  forgive  me." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  That  is  not  the 
question.  You  did  not  do  it.  I  did  not  do 
it.  God  has  clone  it  —  as  you  said." 

"  Did  I  say  that?  Did  I  presume  to 
preach  to  you  ?  " 

"  If  I  have  done  what  you  say  —  if  I  have 
cut  you  off  from  all  human  relations,  and 
made  your  house  worse  than  a  den  of 
thieves  and  murderers,  how  can  anything  be 
too  bad  for  me  to  hear?  What  does  it 
matter  from  whom  I  hear  it? " 

"  I  was  beside  myself.  I  was  drunk  with 
sorrow  and  fatigue." 

"  That  is  when  people  speak  the  truth, 
they  say.  I  don't  blame  you,  Jack.  How 
should  I  ?  But  you  know  it  can  never  be 
the  same,  after  this,  with  you  or  with  me." 

"  Esmee,"   said   Jack,  after  a  long  and 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  75 

bitter  silence,  holding  out  his  shaking  hand, 
"  will  you  come  with  me  in  there,  and  look 
at  him  ?  He  knows  the  truth  —  the  whole 
truth.  If  you  can  see  in  his  face  anything 
like  scorn  or  reproach,  anything  but  peace, 
—  peace  beyond  all  conception,  —  then  I 
will  agree  that  we  part  this  day,  forever. 
Will  you  come  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Jack,  you  are  beside  yourself,  now. 
Do  you  think  that  I  would  gp  in  there,  in 
the  presence  of  that  peace,  and  call  on  it  for 
my  justification,  and  begin  this  thing  again? 
I  should  expect  that  peace  would  come  to 
me  —  the  peace  of  instant  death  —  for  such 
awful  presumption." 

"  I  did  n't  mean  that  —  not  to  excuse 
ourselves ;  only  to  bring  back  the  trust  that 
was  between  us.  Does  this  bitterness  cure 
the  past?  Have  we  not  hurt  each  other 
enough  already  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.  It  is  sufficient  for  me. 
But  men,  they  say,  get  over  such  things, 
and  their  lives  go  on,  and  they  take  their 
places  as  before.  I  want  you  to  " 

"  There  is  nothing  for  me  —  will  you 
believe  it  ?  —  more  than  there  is  for  you. 
Will  you  not  do  me  that  much  justice,  not 


76  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

to  treat  this  one  passion  of  my  life  as  — 
what  shall  I  say?  It  is  not  possible  that 
you  can  think  such  things.  We  must  make 
up  to  each  other  for  what  we  have  each  cost 
the  other.  Come.  Let  us  go  and  stand 
beside  him  —  you  and  I,  before  the  others 
get  here.  It  will  do  us  good.  Then  we 
will  follow  him  out,  on  his  way  home,  as  far 
as  we  can ;  and  if  there  is  any  one  in  town 
who  has  an  account  with  me,  he  can  settle 
it  there  and  then.  Perhaps  my  mother  will 
have  both  her  sons  shipped  home  to  her  on 
the  same  train." 

Jack  had  not  miscounted  on  the  effect  of 
these  words.  They  broke  down  Esmee's 
purer  resolution  with  their  human  appeal. 
Yet  he  was  not  altogether  selfish. 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  She  took 
it,  and  they  went  together,  shrinkingly,  into 
the  presence  of  the  dead.  When  they  came 
out,  the  eyes  of  both  were  wet. 

Late  as  it  was,  it  was  inevitable  that 
Jack  must  start.  Esmee  watched  him  pre 
pare  once  more  for  the  journey.  When  he 
was  ready  to  set  out,  she  said  to  him,  with 
an  extreme  effort : 

"  If  any  one  should  come  while  you  are 
gone,  I  am  to  let  him  in  ?  " 


THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING  77 

"  Do  as  you  think  best,  dear ;  but  I  am 
afraid  that  no  one  will  disturb  you.  It  will 
be  a  lonely  watch.  I  wish  I  could  help  you 
through  with  it." 

"  It  is  my  watch,"  said  Esmee.  "  I  must 
keep  it." 

She  would  have  been  thankful  for  the 
company  even  of  Tip,  to  answer  for  some 
thing  living,  if  not  human,  in  the  house ; 
but  the  dog  insisted  so  savagely  on  follow 
ing  his  master  that  she  was  forced  to  set 
him  free.  She  closed  the  door  after  him, 
and  locked  it  mechanically,  hardly  aware  of 
what  she  did. 

There  is  a  growth  of  the  spirit  which  is 
gradual,  progressive,  healthful,  and  there 
fore  permanent.  There  are  other  psychical 
births  that  are  forced,  convulsive,  agonizing 
in  their  suddenness.  They  may  be  prema 
ture,  brought  on  by  the  shock  of  a  great 
sorrow,  or  a  sin  perhaps  committed  without 
full  knowledge  of  its  nature,  or  realization  of 
its  consequences.  Such  births  are  perilous 
and  unsure.  Of  these  was  the  spiritual  crisis 
through  which  Esmee  was  now  passing. 

She  had  made   her   choice :  human  love 


78  THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING 

was  satisfied  according  to  the  natural  law. 
Now,  in  the  hours  of  her  solitary  watch, 
that  irrevocable  choice  confronted  her.  It 
was  as  a  cup  of  trembling  held  to  her  lips 
by  the  mystery  of  the  Invisible,  which  says  : 
Whoever  will  drink  of  this  cup  of  his  desire, 
be  it  soon,  be  it  late,  shall  drain  it  to  the 
dregs,  and  "  wring  them  out."  .Esmee  had 
come  very  soon  to  the  dregs  of  her  cup  of 
trembling. 

In  such  anguish  and  abasement  her  new 
life  of  the  spirit  began.  Will  she  have 
strength  to  sustain  it,  or  must  it  pass  like  a 
shaken  light  into  the  keeping  of  a  steadier 
hand  ? 

She  was  but  dimly  aware  of  outward 
changes  as  the  ordeal  wore  on.  It  had  been 
pale  daylight  in  the  cabin,  and  now  it  was 
dusk.  It  had  been  as  still  as  death  outside 
after  the  night  of  storm,  the  cold  relenting, 
the  frost  trickling  like  tears  down  the  pane ; 
but  now  there  was  a  rising  stir.  The  soft, 
wild  gale,  the  chinook  of  the  Northwest, 
came  roaring  up  the  peak  —  the  breath  of 
May,  but  the  voice  of  March.  The  forest 
began  to  murmur  and  moan,  and  strip  its 
white  boughs  of  their  burden,  and  all  its 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  79 

fairy  frost-work  melted  like  a  dream.  At 
intervals  in  the  deep  timber  a  strange  sound 
was  heard,  the  rush  and  thump  of  some 
soft,  heavy  mass  into  the  snow.  Esmee  had 
never  heard  the  sound  before  ;  it  filled  her 
with  a  creeping  dread.  Every  separate  dis 
tinct  pounce  —  they  came  at  intervals,  near 
or  far,  but  with  no  regularity  —  was  a  shock 
to  her  overwrought  nerves.  These  sounds 
had  taken  sole  possession  of  her  ear.  It 
was  hence  a  double  shock,  at  about  the 
same  hour  of  early  twilight  when  her  visitor 
had  come  the  night  before,  to  hear  again  a 
man's  feet  in  the  trench  outside,  and  again 
a  loud  knock  upon  the  door. 

Her  heart  with  its  panting  answered  in 
her  breast.  There  was  a  pause  while  out 
side  the  knocker  seemed  to  listen,  as  he  had 
done  before.  Then  the  new-bom  will  of  the 
woman  fearfully  took  command  of  her  cow 
ering  senses.  Something  that  was  beyond 
herself  forced  her  to  the  door.  Pale,  and 
weak  in  every  limb,  she  dragged  herself  to 
meet  whatever  it  was  that  summoned  her. 
This  time  she  opened  the  door. 

There  stood  a  mild-faced  man,  in  the  dress 
of  a  miner,  smiling  apologetically.  Esmee 


80  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

simply  stared  at  him,  and  held  the  door 
wide.  The  man  stepped  hesitatingly  inside, 
taking  off  his  hat  to  the  pale  girl  who  looked 
at  him  so  strangely. 

David  Bruce  modestly  attempted  to  give 
an  incidental  character  to  his  visit  by  in 
venting  an  errand  in  that  neighborhood. 

"  Excuse  me,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "  I  was 
going  along  over  to  the  Mule  Deer,  but  I 
thought  I  'd  just  ask  if  Mr.  Waring's  bro 
ther  got  through  all  right  yesterday  evenin'. 
It  was  so  ugly  outside." 

The  girl  parted  her  lips  to  speak,  but  no 
sound  came.  The  light  shone  in  her  ashy 
face.  Her  eyes  were  losing  their  expression. 
Bruce  saw  that  she  was  fainting,  and  caught 
her  as  she  fell. 

The  interview  begun  in  this  unpromising 
manner  proved  of  the  utmost  comfort  to  Es- 
mee.  There  was  nothing  in  Bruce's  manner 
to  herself,  nothing  in  his  references  to  Jack, 
that  implied  any  curiosity  on  his  part  as  to 
the  relation  between  them,  or  the  least  sur 
prise  at  their  being  together  at  the  Dread- 
naught.  He  had  "  spared  the  situation  " 
with  an  instinct  that  does  not  come  from 
knowledge  of  the  world. 


THE   CUP   OF  TREMBLING  81 

He  listened  to  her  story  of  the  night's 
tragedy,  which  she  told  with  helpless  sever 
ity,  almost  with  indifference,  as  if  it  had 
happened  to  another. 

He  appeared  to  be  greatly  moved  by  it 
personally ;  its  moral  significance  he  did 
not  seem  to  see.  He  sat  helplessly  repeat 
ing  himself,  in  his'  efforts  to  give  words  to 
his  sorrow  for  the  "  kid."  His  vocabulary 
being  limited,  and  chiefly  composed  of  words 
which  he  could  not  use  before  a  lady,  he  was 
put  to  great  inconvenience  to  do  justice  to 
his  feelings. 

He  blamed  himself  and  his  brother  for 
letting  the  young  man  go  by  their  cabin  on 
such  a  threatening  day. 

"  Why,  Jim  and  me  we  could  n't  get  to 
sleep  for  thinkin'  about  him,  't  was  blowin' 
such  a  blizzard.  Seemed  like  we  could  hear 
him  a-yellin'  to  us,  '  Is  this  the  way  to  the 
Dreadnaught  mine  ?  '  Wisht  the  Lord  we  'd 
'a'  said  it  wa'n't.  Well,  sir,  we  don'.t  want  no 
more  such  foolishness.  And  that 's  partly 
why  I  come.  We  never  thought  but  what 
he  had  got  through,  for  all  we  was  pestered 
about  it,  or  else  me  and  Jim  would  'a' 
turned  out  last  night.  But  what  we  was 


82  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

a-sayin'  this  morning  was  this :  Them  folks 
up  there  ain't  acquainted  with  this  country 
like  we  be  —  not  in  the  winter-time.  This 
here  is  what  we  call  snow-slide  weather. 
Hain't  you  been  hearing  how  things  is 
lettin'  go  ?  The  snow  slumpin'  off  the 
trees  —  you  must  have  heard  that.  It's 
lettin'  go  up  above  us,  too.  There 's  a  mil 
lion  ton  of  snow  up  there  a-settlin'  and 
a-crawlin'  in  this  chinook,  just  a-gettin'  ready 
to  start  to  slide.  We  fellers  in  the  moun 
tains  know  how  't  is.  This  cabin  has  stood 
all  right  so  far,  but  the  woods  above  was 
cut  last  summer.  Now,  I  want  you  to  come 
along  with  me  right  now.  I  've  got  a  hand- 
sleigh  here.  You  can  tuck  yourself  up  on 
it,  and  we  '11  pull  out  for  the  Mule  Deer, 
and  likely  meet  with  Mr.  Waring  on  the 
way.  And  if  there  's  a  snow-slide  here  be 
fore  morning,  it  '11  bury  the  dead,  and  not 
the  living  and  the  dead." 

At  these  words  the  blood  rushed  to  Es- 
mee's  cheek,  and  then  dropped  back  to  her 
heart,  leaving  her  as  white  as  snow. 

"  I  don't  remember  that  I  have  ever  seen 
you  before,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  thank  you 
more  than  I  ever  thanked  anybody  in  all 
my  lifeo" 


THE    CUP   OF   TREMBLING  83 

David  Bruce  thought  of  course  that  she 
was  going  with  him.  But  that  was  not  what 
she  meant.  Her  face  shone.  God,  in  his 
great  mercy,  had  given  her  this  one  oppor 
tunity. 

"  This  is  my  watch,  you  know.  I  cannot 
leave  this  house.  But  I  don't  think  there 
will  be  a  snow-slide.  Things  do  not  happen 
so  simply  as  that.  You  don't  know  what  I 
mean  ?  But  think  a  moment.  You  know, 
do  you  not,  who  I  am  ?  Should  you  think 
really  that  death  is  a  thing  that  any  friend 
of  mine  would  wish  to  save  me  from  ?  Life 
is  what  I  am  afraid  of  —  long  life  to  the 
end.  I  don't  think  there  will  be  a  snow- 
slide,  not  in  time  for  me.  But  I  thank  you 
so  much.  You  have  made  me  feel  so  human 
—  so  like  other  people.  You  don't  under 
stand  that,  either?  Well,  no  matter.  I 
am  just  as  grateful.  I  shall  remember  your 
visit  all  my  life  ;  and  even  if  I  li ve  long,  I 
doubt  if  I  shall  ever  have  a  kinder  visitor. 
I  am  much  better  for  your  coming,  though 
you  may  think  you  have  come  for  nothing. 
Now  you  must  go  before  it  gets  too  dark. 
You  will  go  to  the  Mule  Deer,  will  you  not, 
and  carry  this  same  message  to  —  there? " 


84  THE    CUP    OF   TREMBLING 

"  I  'm  goin'  to  stop  right  here  till  Jack 
Waring  gets  back." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  're  not.  You  are  going 
this  instant."  She  rose,  and  held  out  her 
hand.  She  had  that  power  over  him  that 
one  so  much  in  earnest  as  she  will  always 
have  over  one  who  is  amazed  and  in  doubt. 

"  Won't  you  shake  hands  with  me  ?  " 
Her  thrilling  voice  made  a  sort  of  music  of 
the  common  words. 

He  took  her  hand,  and  wagged  it  clumsily 
in  a  dazed  way,  and  she  almost  pushed  him 
out  of  the  house. 

"  Well,  I  '11  be  hanged  if  that  ain't  the 
meanest  trick  since  I  was  born  —  to  leave  a 
little  lone  woman  watchin'  with  a  dead  man 
in  a  cabin,  with  snow-slides  startin'  all  over 
the  mountains  !  What 's  the  matter  with 
me,  anyhow  ?  Seem  to  be  knocked  silly 
with  her  blamed  queer  talk.  Heap  of  sense 
in  it,  too.  Would  n't  think  one  of  her  kind 
would  see  it  that  way,  though.  Durned  if  I 
know  which  kind  she  is.  B'lieve  I  '11  go 
back  now.  Why,  Lord  !  I  must  go  back  ! 
What '11  I  say  to  Jim?" 

David  Bruce  had  gained  the  top  of  the  road 


THE   CUP   OF   TREMBLING  85 

leading  away  from  the  mine  before  he  came 
to  himself  in  a  burst  of  unconscious  profan 
ity.  He  could  hear  the  howling  of  the  wind 
around  the  horn  of  the  peak.  He  looked  up 
and  down,  and  considered  a  second. 

In  another  second  it  was  too  late  —  too 
late  to  add  his  life  to  hers,  that  instant  bur 
ied  beneath  the  avalanche. 

A  stroke  out  of  a  clear  sky ;  a  roar  that 
filled  the  air ;  a  burst  of  light  snow  mount 
ing  over  the  tree-tops  like  steam  condensed 
above  a  rushing  train ;  a  concussion  of  wind 
that  felled  trees  in  the  valley  a  hundred 
yards  from  the  spot  where  the  plunging  mass 
shot  down  —  then  the  chinook  eddied  back, 
across  the  track  of  the  snow-slide,  and  went 
storming  up  the  peak. 


MAVERICK 

TRAVELING  BUTTES  is  a  lone  stage-station 
on  the  road,  largely  speaking,  from  Black- 
foot  to  Boise.  I  do  not  know  whether  the 
stages  take  that  road  now,  but  ten  years  ago 
they  did,  and  the  man  who  kept  the  stage- 
house  was  a  person  of  primitive  habits  and 
corresponding  appearance  named  Gilroy. 

The  stage-house  is  perhaps  half  a  mile 
from  the  foot  of  the  largest  butte,  one  of 
three  that  loom  on  the  horizon,  and  appear 
to  "  travel "  from  you,  as  you  approach  them 
from  the  plains.  A  day's  ride  with  the 
Buttes  as  a  landmark  is  like  a  stern  chase, 
hi  that  you  seem  never  to  gain  upon  them. 

From  the  stage-house  the  plain  slopes  up 
to  the  foot  of  the  Big  Butte,  which  rises  sud 
denly  in  the  form  of  an  enormous  tepee,  as 
if  Gitche  Manito,  the  mighty,  had  here  de 
scended  and  pitched  his  tent  for  a  council 
of  the  nations. 

The  country  is  destitute  of  water.     To  say 


MAVERICK  87 

that  it  is  "  thirsty  "  is  to  mock  with  vain  im 
agery  that  dead  and  mummied  land  on  the 
borders  of  the  Black  Lava.  The  people  at 
the  stage-house  had  located  a  precious  spring, 
four  miles  up,  in  a  cleft  near  the  top  of  the 
Big  Butte ;  they  piped  the  water  down  to  the 
house  and  they  sold  it  to  travelers  on  that 
Jericho  road  at  so  much  per  horse.  The  man 
was  thrown  in,  but  the  man  usually  drank 
whisky. 

Our  guide  commented  unfavorably  on  this 
species  of  husbandry,  which  is  common 
enough  in  the  arid  West,  and  as  legitimate  as 
selling  oats  or  hay ;  but  he  chose  to  resent  it 
in  the  case  of  Gilroy,  and  to  look  upon  it 
as  an  instance  of  individual  and  exceptional 
meanness. 

"  Any  man  that  will  jump  God's  water  in 

a  place  like  this,  and  sell  it  the  same  as  drinks 

—  he'  d  sell  water  to  his  own  father  in  hell !  " 

This  was  our  guide's  opinion  of  Gilroy. 
He  was  equally  frank,  and  much  more  ex 
plicit,  in  regard  to  Gilroy's  sons.  "  But," 
he  concluded,  with  a  philosopher's  acceptance 
of  existing  facts,  "  it  ain't  likely  that  any  of 
that  outfit  will  ever  git  into  trouble,  so  long 
as  Maverick  is  sheriff  of  Lemhi  County." 


88  MAVERICK 

We  were  about  to  ask  why,  when  we  drove 
up  to  the  stage-house,  and  Maverick  himself 
stepped  out  and  took  our  horses. 

"What  the  —  infernal  has  happened  to  the 
man  ?  "  my  companion,  Ferris,  exclaimed ; 
and  our  guide  answered  indifferently,  as  if  he 
were  speaking  of  the  weather,  — 

"  Some  Injuns  caught  him  alone  in  an 
out-o'-the-way  ranch,  when  he  was  a  kid,  and 
took  a  notion  to  play  with  him.  This  is  what 
was  left  when  they  got  through.  I  never 
see  but  one  worse-looking  man,"  he  added, 
speaking  low,  as  Maverick  passed  us  with 
the  team :  "  him  a  bear  wiped  over  the  head 
with  its  paw.  'Twas  quicker  over  with,  I 
expect,  but  he  lived,  and  he  looked  worse 
than  Maverick." 

"Then  I  hope  to  the  Lord  I  may  never 
see  him ! "  Ferris  ejaculated  ;  and  I  noticed 
that  he  left  his  dinner  untasted,  though  he 
had  boasted  of  a  hunter's  appetite. 

We  were  two  college  friends  on  a  hunting 
trip,  but  we  had  not  got  into  the  country 
of  game.  In  two  days  more  we  expected 
to  make  Jackson's  Hole,  and  I  may  mention 
that  "  hole,"  in  this  region,  signifies  any 
small,  deep  valley,  well  hidden  amidst  high 


MAVERICK  89 

mountains,  where  moisture  is  perennial,  and 
grass  abounds.  In  these  pockets  of  plenty, 
herds  of  elk  gather  and  feed  as  tame  as  park 
pets ;  and  other  hunted  creatures,  as  wild  but 
less  innocent,  often  find  sanctuary  here,  and 
cache  their  stolen  stock  and  other  spoil  of 
the  road  and  the  range. 

We  did  not  forget  to  put  our  question  con 
cerning  Maverick,  that  unhappy  man,  in  his 
character  of  legalized  protector  of  the  Gilroy 
gang.  What  did  our  free-spoken  guide  mean 
by  that  insinuation  ? 

We  were  told  that  Gilroy,  in  his  rough- 
handed  way,  had  been  as  a  father  to  the  lad, 
after  the  savages  wreaked  their  pleasure  on 
him:  and  his  people  being  dead  or  scattered, 
Maverick  had  made  himself  useful  in  various 
humble  capacities  at  the  stage-house,  and  had 
finally  become  a  sort  of  factotum  there  and 
a  member  of  the  family.  And  though  per 
fectly  square  himself,  and  much  respected  on 
account  of  his  personal  courage  and  singular 
misfortunes,  he  could  never  see  the  old  man's 
crookedness,  nor  the  more  than  crookedness 
of  his  sons.  He  was  like  a  son  of  the  house, 
himself ;  but  most  persons  agreed  that  it  was 
not  as  a  brother  he  felt  toward  Rose  Gilroy. 


90  MA  VERICK 

And  a  tough  lookout  it  was  for  the  girl ;  for 
Maverick  was  one  whom  no  man  would  lightly 
cross,  and  in  her  case  he  was  acting  as  "gen 
eral  dog  around  the  place,"  as  our  guide 
called  it.  The  young  fellows  were  shy  of  the 
house,  notwithstanding  the  attraction  it  held. 
It  was  likely  to  be  Maverick  or  nobody  for 
Rose. 

We  did  not  see  Rose  Gilroy,  but  we  heard 
her  step  in  the  stage-house  kitchen,  and  her 
voice,  as  clear  as  a  lark's,  giving  orders  to 
the  tall,  stooping,  fair  young  Swede,  who 
waited  on  us  at  table,  and  did  other  work  of 
a  menial  character  in  that  singular  establish 
ment. 

"  How  is  it  the  watch-dog  allows  such 
a  pretty  sprig  as  that  around  the  place  ?  " 
Ferris  questioned,  eying  our  knight  of  the 
trencher,  who  blushed  to  feel  himself  re 
marked. 

"  He  won't  stay,"  our  guide  pronounced ; 
"  they  don't  none  of  'em  stay  when  they  're 
good-lookin'.  The  old  man  he  's  failin '  con 
siderable  these  days,  —  gettin'  kind  o'  silly, 
—  and  the  boys  are  away  the  heft  of  the 
time.  Maverick  pretty  much  runs  the  place. 
I  don't  justly  blame  the  critter.  He  's 


MA  VERICK  91 

watched  that  little  Rose  grow  up  from  a 
baby.  How 's  he  goin'  to  quit  being  fond  of 
her  now  she  's  a  woman  ?  I  dare  say  he  'd  a 
heap  sooner  she  'd  stayed  a  little  girl.  And 
these  yere  boys  around  here  they  're  a  triflin' 
set,  not  half  so  able  to  take  care  of  her  as 
Maverick.  He 's  got  the  sense  and  he  's  got 
the  sand  ;  but  there 's  that  awful  head  on 
him !  I  don't  blame  him  much,  lookin'  the 
way  he  does,  and  feelin'  the  same  as  any 
other  man." 

We  left  Traveling  Buttes  and  its  cruel 
little  love-story,  but  we  had  not  gone  a  mile 
when  a  horseman  overtook  us  with  a  mes 
sage  for  Ferris  from  his  new  foreman  at  the 
ranch,  a  summons  which  called  him  back  for 
a  day  at  the  least.  Ferris  was  exceedingly 
annoyed:  a  day  at  the  ranch  meant  four 
days  on  the  road ;  but  the  business  was  im 
perative.  We  held  a  brief  council,  and  de 
cided  that,  with  Ferris  returning,  our  guide 
should  push  on  with  the  animals  and  camp 
outfit  into  a  country  of  grass,  and  look  up  a 
good  camping-spot  (which  might  not  be  the 
first  place  he  struck)  this  side  of  Jackson's 
Hole.  It  remained  for  me  to  choose  be 
tween  going  with  the  stuff,  or  staying  for  a 


92  MAVERICK 

longer  look  at  the  phenomenal  Black  Lava 
fields  at  Arco  ;  Arco  being  another  name  for 
desolation  on  the  very  edge  of  that  weird 
stone  sea.  This  was  my  ostensible  reason 
for  choosing  to  remain  at  Arco  ;  but  I  will 
not  say  the  reflection  did  not  cross  me  that 
Arco  is  only  sixteen  miles  from  Traveling 
Buttes  —  not  an  insurmountable  distance 
between  geology  and  a  pretty  girl,  when  one 
is  five  and  twenty,  and  has  not  seen  a  pretty 
face  for  a  month  of  Sundays. 

Arco,  at  that  time,  consisted  of  the  stage- 
house,  a  store,  and  one  or  two  cabins  —  a 
poor  little  seed  of  civilization  dropped  by 
the  wayside,  between  the  Black  Lava  and 
the  hills  where  Lost  River  comes  down  and 
"  sinks  "  on  the  edge  of  the  lava.  The  sta 
tion  is  somewhat  back  from  the  road,  with 
its  face  —  a  very  grimy,  unwashed  coun 
tenance  —  to  the  lava.  Quaking  asps  and 
mountain  birches  follow  the  water,  pausing 
a  little  way  up  the  gulch  behind  the  house, 
but  the  eager  grass  tracks  it  all  the  way 
till  it  vanishes  ;  and  the  dry  bed  of  the 
stream  goes  on  and  spreads  in  a  mass  of 
coarse  sand  and  gravel,  beaten  flat,  flailed 
by  the  feet  of  countless  driven  sheep  that 


MAVERICK  93 

have  gathered  here.  For  this  road  is  on 
the  great  overland  sheep-trail  from  Oregon 
eastward  —  the  march  of  the  million  mouths, 
and  what  the  mouths  do  not  devour  the  feet 
tramp  down. 

The  staple  topic  of  conversation  at  Arco 
was  one  very  common  in  the  far  west,  when 
a  tenderfoot  is  of  the  company.  The  poor 
est  place  can  boast  of  some  distinction,  and 
Arco,  though  hardly  on  the  highroad  of 
fashion  and  commerce,  had  frequently  been 
named  in  print  in  connection  with  crime  of 
a  highly  sensational  and  picturesque  charac 
ter.  Scarcely  another  fifty  miles  of  stage- 
road  could  boast  of  so  many  and  such  suc 
cessful  road-jobs ;  and  although  these  affairs 
were  of  almost  monthly  occurrence,  and 
might  be  looked  for  to  come  off  always 
within  that  noted  danger-limit,  yet  it  was  a 
fact  that  the  law  had  never  yet  laid  finger 
on  a  man  of  the  gang,  nor  gained  the  small 
est  clew  to  their  hide-out.  It  was  a  difficult 
country  around  Arco,  one  that  lent  itself  to 
secrecy.  The  road-agents  came,  and  took, 
and  vanished  as  if  the  hills  were  their  co 
partners  as  well  as  the  receivers  of  their 
goods.  As  for  the  lava,  which  was  its  front 


94  MAVERICK 

dooryard,  so  to  speak,  for  a  hundred  miles, 
the  man  did  not  live  who  could  say  he  had 
crossed  it.  What  it  held  or  was  capable  of 
hiding,  in  life  or  in  death,  no  man  knew. 

The  day  after  Ferris  left  me  I  rode  out 
upon  that  arrested  tide  —  those  silent  break 
ers  which  for  ages  have  threatened,  but  never 
reached,  the  shore.  I  tried  to  fancy  it  as 
it  must  once  have  been,  a  sluggish,  vitreous 
flood,  filling  the  great  valley,  and  stiffening 
as  it  slowly  pushed  toward  the  bases  of  the 
hills.  It  climbed  and  spread,  as  dough  rises 
and  crawls  over  the  edge  of  the  pan.  The 
Black  Lava  is  always  called  a  sea  —  that 
image  is  inevitable  ;  yet  its  movement  had 
never  in  the  least  the  character  of  water. 
"  This  is  where  hell  pops,"  an  old  plains 
man  feelingly  described  it,  and  the  sugges 
tion  is  perfect.  The  colors  of  the  rock  are 
those  produced  by  fire :  its  texture  is  that 
of  slag  from  a  furnace.  One  sees  how  the 
lava  hardened  into  a  crust,  which  cracked 
and  sank  in  places,  mingling  its  tumbled 
edges  with  the  creeping  flood  not  cooled  be 
neath.  After  all  movement  had  ceased  and 
the  mass  was  still,  time  began  upon  its  tor 
tured  configurations,  crumbled  and  wore  and 


MAVERICK  95 

broke,  and  sifted  a  little  earth  here  and 
there,  and  sealed  the  burnt  rock  with  fairy 
print  of  lichens,  serpent-green  and  orange 
and  rust-red.  The  spring  rains  left  shallow 
pools  which  the  summer  dried.  Across  it,  a 
few  dim  trails  wander  a  little  way  and  give 
out,  like  the  water. 

For  a  hundred  miles  to  the  Snake  River 
this  Plutonian  gulf  obliterates  the  land  — 
holds  it  against  occupation  or  travel.  The 
shoes  of  a  marching  army  would  be  cut  from 
their  feet  before  they  had  gone  a  dozen  miles 
across  it ;  horses  would  have  no  feet  left ; 
and  water  would  have  to  be  packed  as  on  an 
ocean,  or  a  desert,  cruise. 

I  rode  over  places  where  the  rock  rang 
beneath  my  horse's  hoofs  like  the  iron  cover 
of  a  manhole.  I  followed  the  hollow  ridges 
that  mounted  often  forty  feet  above  my 
head,  but  always  with  that  gruesome  effect 
of  thickening  movement  —  that  sluggish, 
atomic  crawl ;  and  I  thought  how  one  man  pur 
suing  another  into  this  frozen  hell  might  lose 
himself,  but  never  find  the  object  of  his  quest. 
If  he  took  the  wrong  furrow,  he  could  not  cross 
from  one  blind  gut  into  another,  nor  hope  to 
meet  the  fugitive  at  any  future  turning. 


96  MAVERICK 

I  don't  know  why  the  fancy  of  a  flight  and 
pursuit  should  so  have  haunted  me,  in  con 
nection  with  the  Black  Lava ;  probably  the 
desperate  and  lawless  character  of  our  con 
versation  at  the  stage-house  gave  rise  to  it. 

I  had  fallen  completely  under  the  spell  of 
that  skeleton  flood.  I  watched  the  sun  sink, 
as  it  sinks  at  sea,  beyond  its  utmost  ragged 
ridges  ;  I  sat  on  the  borders  of  it,  and  stared 
across  it  in  the  gray  moonlight ;  I  rode  out 
upon  it  when  the  Buttes,  in  their  delusive 
nearness,  were  as  blue  as  the  gates  of  ame 
thyst,  and  the  morning  was  as  fair  as  one 
great  pearl;  but  no  peace  or  radiance  of 
heaven  or  earth  could  change  its  aspect  more 
than  that  of  a  mound  of  skulls.  When  I 
began  to  dream  about  it,  I  thought  I  must 
be  getting  morbid.  This  is  worse  than  Gil- 
roy's,  I  said  ;  and  I  promised  myself  I  would 
ride  up  there  next  day  and  see  if  by  chance 
one  might  get  a  peep  at  the  Rose  that  all 
were  praising,  but  none  dared  put  forth  a 
hand  to  pluck.  Was  it  indeed  so  hard  a  case 
for  the  Rose  ?  There  are  women  who  can 
love  a  man  for  the  perils  he  has  passed. 
Alas,  Maverick !  could  any  one  get  used  to  a 
face  like  that  ? 


MAVERICK  97 

Here,  surely,  was  the  story  of  Beauty  and 
her  poor  Beast  humbly  awaiting,  in  the  mask 
of  a  brutish  deformity,  the  recognition  of 
Love  pure  enough  to  divine  the  soul  beneath, 
and  unselfish  enough  to  deliver  it.  Was 
there  such  love  as  that  at  Gilroy's  ?  How 
ever,  I  did  not  make  that  ride. 

It  was  the  fourth  night  of  clear,  desert 
moonlight  since  Ferris  had  left  me :  I  was 
sleepless,  and  so  I  heard  the  first  faint  throb 
of  a  horse's  feet  approaching  from  the  east, 
coming  on  at  a  great  pace,  and  making  the 
turn  to  the  stage-house.  I  looked  out,  and 
on  the  trodden  space  in  front  I  saw  Maver 
ick  dismounting  from  a  badly  blown  horse. 

"  Halloo  !  what 's  up  ?  "  I  called  from  the 
open  window  of  my  bedroom  on  the  ground- 
floor. 

"  Did  two  men  pass  here  on  horseback 
since  dark?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said ;  "  about  twelve  o'clock :  a 
tall  man  and  a  little  short  fellow." 

"  Did  they  stop  to  water?" 

"  No,  they  did  not ;  and  they  seemed  in 
such  a  tearing  hurry  that  I  watched  them 
down  the  road  "  — 


98  MAVERICK 

"  I  am  after  those  men,  and  I  want  a 
fresh  horse,"  he  cut  in.  "  Call  up  somebody 
quick!" 

"  Shall  you  take  one  of  the  boys  along  ?  " 
I  inquired,  with  half  an  eye  to  myself,  after 
I  had  obeyed  his  command. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Only  one  horse 
here  that 's  good  for  anything  :  I  want  that 
myself." 

"  There  is  my  horse,"  I  suggested ;  "  but 
I'd  rather  be  the  one  who  rides  her.  She 
belongs  to  a  friend." 

"Take  her,  and  come  on,  then,  but  under 
stand —  this  ain't  a  Sunday-school  picnic." 

"  I  'm  with  you,  if  you  '11  have  me." 

"  I  'd  sooner  have  your  horse,"  he  re 
marked,  shifting  the  quid  of  tobacco  in  his 
cheek. 

"  You  can't  have  her  without  me,  unless 
you  steal  her,"  I  said. 

"  Git  your  gun,  then,  and  shove  some  grub 
into  your  pockets:  I  can't  wait  for  nobody." 

He  swung  himself  into  the  saddle. 

"  What  road  do  you  take  ?  " 

"  There  ain't  but  one,"  he  shouted,  and 
pointed  straight  ahead. 

I  overtook  him  easily  within  the  hour ;  he 


MA  VERICK  99 

was  saving  his  horse,  for  this  was  his  last 
chance  to  change  until  Champagne  Station, 
fifty  miles  away. 

He  gave  me  rather  a  cynical  smile  of  rec 
ognition  as  I  ranged  alongside,  as  if  to  say. 
"  You  '11  probably  get  enough  of  this  before 
we  are  through."  The  horses  settled  down  to 
their  work,  and  they  "  humped  theirselves," 
as  Maverick  put  it,  in  the  cool  hours  before 
sunrise. 

At  daybreak  his  awful  face  struck  me  all 
afresh,  as  inscrutable  in  its  strange  distor 
tion  as  some  stone  god  in  the  desert,  from 
whose  graven  hideousness  a  thousand  years 
of  mornings  have  silently  drawn  the  veil. 

"  What  do  you  want  those  fellows  for  ?  " 
I  asked,  as  we  rode.  I  had  taken  for 
granted  that  we  were  hunting  suspects  of 
the  road-agent  persuasion. 

"  I  want  'em  on  general  principles,"  he 
answered  shortly. 

"  Do  you  think  you  know  them  ?  " 

"  I  think  they  '11  know  me.  All  depends 
on  how  they  act  when  we  get  within  range. 
If  they  don't  pay  no  attention  to  us,  we  '11 
send  a  shot  across  their  bows.  But  more 
likely  they  '11  speak  first." 


100  MAVERICK 

He  was  very  gloomy,  and  would  keep 
silence  for  an  hour  at  a  time.  Once  he 
turned  on  me  as  with  a  sudden  misgiving. 

"  See  here,  don't  you  git  excited  ;  and 
whatever  happens,  don't  you  meddle  with 
the  little  one.  If  the  big  fellow  cuts  up 
rough,  he  '11  take  his  chances,  but  you  leave 
the  little  one  to  me.  I  want  him  —  I  want 
him  for  State's  evidence,"  he  finished 
hoarsely. 

"  The  little  one  must  be  the  Benjamin  of 
the  family,"  I  thought  —  "  one  of  the  bad 
young  Gilroys,  whose  time  has  come  at  last ; 
and  sheriff  Maverick  finds  his  duty  hard." 

I  could  not  say  whether  I  really  wished 
the  men  to  be  overtaken,  but  the  spirit  of 
the  chase  had  undoubtedly  entered  into  my 
blood.  I  felt  as  most  men  do,  who  are  not 
saints  or  cowards,  when  such  work  as  this  is 
to  be  done.  But  I  knew  I  had  no  business 
to  be  along.  It  was  one  thing  for  Maverick, 
but  the  part  of  an  amateur  in  a  man-hunt  is 
not  one  to  boast  of. 

The  sun  was  now  high,  and  the  fresh 
tracks  ahead  of  us  were  plain  in  the  dust. 
Once  they  left  the  road  and  strayed  off 
into  the  lava,  incomprehensibly  to  me ;  but 


MAVERICK  101 

Maverick  understood,  and  pressed  forward. 
"  We  '11  strike  them  again  further  on. 
D —  —  fool !  "  he  muttered,  and  I  observed 
that  he  alluded  but  to  one,  "  huntin'  water- 
holes  in  the  lava  in  the  tail  end  of  August ! " 

They  could  not  have  found  water,  for  at 
Belgian  Flat  they  had  stopped  and  dug  for 
it  in  the  gravel,  where  a  little  stream  in 
freshet  time  comes  down  the  gulch  from  the 
snow-fields  higher  up,  and  sinks,  as  at  Arco, 
on  the  lip  of  the  lava.  They  had  dug,  and 
found  it,  and  saved  us  the  trouble,  as  Mav 
erick  remarked. 

Considerable  water  had  gathered  since 
the  flight  had  paused  here  and  lost  precious 
time.  We  drank  our  fill,  refreshed  our1 
horses,  and  shifted  the  saddle-girths  ;  and 
I  managed  to  stow  away  my  lunch  during 
the  next  mile  or  so,  after  offering  to  share 
it  with  Maverick,  who  refused  it  as  if  the 
notion  of  food  made  him  sick.  He  had 
considerable  whisky  aboard,  but  he  was,  I 
judged,  one  of  those  men  on  whom  drink 
has  little  effect ;  else  some  counter-flame  of 
excitement  was  fighting  it  in  his  blood. 

I  looked  for  the  development  of  the  per 
sonal  complication  whenever  we  should  come 


102  MAVERICK 

up  with  the  chase,  for  the  man's  eye  burned, 
and  had  his  branded  countenance  been  capa 
ble  of  any  expression  that  was  not  cruelly 
travestied,  he  would  have  looked  the  imper 
sonation  of  wild  justice. 

It  was  now  high  noon,  and  our  horses 
were  beginning  to  feel  the  steady  work  ;  yet 
we  had  not  ridden  as  they  brought  the  good 
news  from  Ghent :  that  is  the  pace  of  a 
great  lyric ;  but  it 's  not  the  pace  at  which 
justice,  or  even  vengeance,  travels  in  the  far 
West.  Even  the  furies  take  it  coolly  when 
they  pursue  a  man  over  these  roads,  and  on 
these  poor  brutes  of  horses,  in  fifty-mile 
stages,  with  drought  thrown  in. 

Maverick  had  had  no  mercy  on  the  pony 
that  brought  him  sixteen  miles  ;  but  this 
piece  of  horse-flesh  he  now  bestrode  must 
last  him  through  at  least  to  Champagne 
Station,  should  we  not  overhaul  our  men 
before.  He  knew  well  when  to  press  and 
when  to  spare  the  pace,  a  species  of  purely 
practical  consideration  which  seemed  habit 
ual  with  him ;  he  rode  like  an  automaton, 
his  baleful  face  borne  straight  before  him  — 
the  Gorgon's  head. 

Beyond  Belgian  Flat  —  how  far  beyond 


MAVERICK  103 

I  do  not  remember,  for  I  was  beginning  to 
feel  the  work,  too,  and  the  country  looked 
all  alike  to  me  as  we  made  it,  mile  by  mile 
—  the  road  follows  close  along  by  the  lava, 
but  the  hills  recede,  and  a  little  trail  cuts 
across,  meeting  the  road  again  at  Deadman's 
Flat.  Here  we  could  not  trust  to  the  track, 
which  from  the  nature  of  the  ground  was 
indistinct.  So  we  divided  our  forces,  Mav 
erick  taking  the  trail,  —  which  I  was  quite 
willing  he  should  do,  for  it  had  a  look  of 
most  sinister  invitation,  —  while  I  continued 
by  the  longer  road.  Our  little  discussion, 
or  some  atmospheric  change,  —  some  breath 
of  coolness  from  the  hills,  —  had  brought 
me  up  out  of  my  stupor  of  weariness.  I 
began  to  feel  both  alert  and  nervous  ;  my 
heart  was  beating  fast.  The  still  sunshine 
lay  all  around  us,  but  where  Maverick's  white 
horse  was  climbing,  the  shadows  were  turn 
ing  eastward,  and  the  deep  gulches,  with 
their  patches  of  aspen,  were  purple  instead 
of  brown.  The  aspens  were  left  shaking 
where  he  broke  through  them  and  passed 
out  of  sight. 

I  kept  on  at  a  good  pace,  and  about  three 
o'closk  I,  being  then  as  much  as  half  a  mile 


104  MAVERICK 

away,  saw  the  spot  which  I  knew  must  be 
Deadman's  Flat ;  and  there  were  our  men, 
the  tall  one  and  his  boyish  mate,  standing 
quietly  by  their  horses  in  broad  sunlight, 
as  if  there  were  no  one  within  a  hundred 
miles.  Their  horses  had  drunk,  and  were 
cropping  the  thin  grass,  which  had  set  its 
tooth  in  the  gravel  where,  as  at  the  other 
places,  a  living  stream  had  perished.  I 
spurred  forward,  with  my  heart  thumping, 
but  before  they  saw  me  I  saw  Maverick 
coming  down  the  little  gulch;  and  from 
the  way  he  came  I  knew  that  he  had  seen 
them. 

The  scene  was  awful  in  its  treacherous 
peacefulness.  Their  shadows  slept  on  the 
broad  bed  of  sunlight,  and  the  gulch  was  as 
cool  and  still  as  a  lady's  chamber.  The 
great  dead  desert  received  the  silence  like  a 
secret. 

Tenderfoot  as  I  was,  I  knew  quite  well 
what  must  happen  now  ;  yet  I  was  not  pre 
pared  —  could  not  realize  it  —  even  when 
the  tall  one  put  his  hand  quickly  behind 
him  and  stepped  ahead  of  his  horse.  There 
was  the  flash  of  his  pistol,  and  the  loud 
crack  echoing  in  the  hill ;  a  second  shot,  and 


MAVERICK  105 

then  Maverick  replied  deliberately,  and  the 
tall  one  was  down,  with  his  face  in  the 
grass. 

I  heard  a  scream  that  sounded  strangely 
like  a  woman's  ;  but  there  were  only  the 
three,  the  little  one,  acting  wildly,  and  Mav 
erick  bending  over  him  who  lay  with  his 
face  in  the  grass.  I  saw  him  turn  the  body 
over,  and  the  little  fellow  seemed  to  protest, 
and  to  try  to  push  him  away.  I  thought  it 
strange  he  made  no  more  of  a  fight,  but  I 
was  not  near  enough  to  hear  what  those  two 
said  to  each  other. 

Still,  the  tragedy  did  not  come  home  to 
me.  It  was  all  like  a  scene,  and  I  was 
without  feeling  in  it  except  for  that  nervous 
trembling  which  I  could  not  control. 

Maverick  stood  up  at  length,  and  came 
slowly  toward  me,  wiping  his  face.  He 
kept  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and,  looking  down 
at  it,  said  huskily  :  — 

"  I  gave  that  man  his  life  when  I  found 
him  last  spring  runnin'  loose  like  a  wild 
thing  in  the  mountains,  and  now  I  've  took 
it ;  and  God  above  knows  I  had  no  grudge 
ag'in'  him,  if  he  had  stayed  in  his  place. 
But  he  wovdd  have  it  so." 


106  MAVERICK 

"  Maverick,  I  saw  it  all,  and  I  can  swear 
it  was  self-defense." 

His  face  drew  into  the  tortured  grimace 
which  was  his  smile.  "  This  here  will  never 
come  before  a  jury,"  he  said.  "  It 's  a 
family  affair.  Did  ye  see  how  he  acted? 
Steppin'  up  to  me  like  he  was  a  first-class 
shot,  or  else  a  fool.  He  ain't  nary  one ;  he 's 
a  poor  silly  tool,  the  whip-hand  of  a  girl 
that 's  boltin'  from  her  friends  like  they  was 
her  mortal  enemies.  Go  and  take  a  look  at 
him  ;  then  maybe  you  '11  understand." 

He  paused,  and  uttered  the  name  of  Jesus 
Christ,  but  not  as  such  men  often  use  it, 
with  an  inconsequence  dreadful  to  hear :  he 
was  not  idly  swearing,  but  calling  that  name 
to  witness  solemnly  in  a  case  that  would 
never  come  before  a  jury. 

I  began  to  understand. 

"  Is  it  —  is  the  girl  " 

"  Yes ;  it 's  our  poor  little  Rose  —  that 's 
the  little  one,  in  the  gray  hat.  She  '11  give 
herself  away  if  I  don't.  She  don't  care  for 
nothin'  nor  nobody.  She  was  runnin'  away 
with  that  fellow  —  that  dish-washin'  Swede 
what  I  found  in  the  mountings  eatin'  roots 
like  a  ground-hog,  with  the  ends  of  his  feet 


MAVERICK  107 

froze  off.  Now  you  know  all  I  know  —  and 
more  than  she  knows,  for  she  thinks  she 
was  fond  of  him.  She  wa'n't,  never  —  for  I 
watched  'em,  and  I  know.  She  was  crazy  to 
git  away,  and  she  took  him  for  the  chance." 

His  excitement  passed,  and  we  sat  apart 
and  watched  the  pair  at  a  distance.     She  — 
the  little  one  —  sat  as  passively  by  her  dead 
as  Maverick  pondering  his  cruel  deed ;  but 
with  both  it  was  a  hopeless  quiet. 

"  Come,"  he  said  at  length,  "  I  've  got  to 
bury  him.  You  look  after  her,  and  keep 
her  with  you  till  I  git  through.  I  'm  givin' 
you  the  hardest  part,"  he  added  wistfully, 
as  if  he  fully  realized  how  he  had  cut  himself 
off  from  all  such  duties,  henceforth,  to  the 
girl  he  was  consigning  to  a  stranger's  care. 

I  told  him  I  thought  that  the  funeral  had 
more  need  of  me  than  the  mourner,  and  I 
shrank  from  intruding  myself. 

"  I  dassent  leave  her  by  herself  —  see  ? 
I  don't  know  what  notion  she  may  take  next, 
and  she  won't  let  me  come  within  a  rope's 
len'th  of  her." 

I  will  not  go  over  again  that  miserable 
hour  in  the  willows,  where  I  made  her  stay 
with  me,  out  of  sight  of  what  Maverick  was 


108  MAVERICK 

doing.  Ours  were  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
wicked,  I  fear  ;  but  she  must  have  felt  that 
sympathy  at  least  was  near  her,  if  not  help. 
I  will  not  say  that  her  youth  and  distressful 
loveliness  did  not  sharpen  my  perception  of 
a  sweet  life  wasted,  gone  utterly  astray,  which 
might  have  brought  God's  blessing  into 
some  man's  home  —  perhaps  Maverick's, 
had  he  not  been  so  hardly  dealt  with.  She 
was  not  of  that  great  disposition  of  heart 
which  can  love  best  that  which  has  sorest 
need  of  love  ;  but  she  was  all  woman,  and 
helpless  and  distraught  with  her  tangle  of 
grief  and  despair,  the  nature  of  which  I 
could  only  half  comprehend. 

We  sat  there  by  the  sunken  stream,  on 
the  hot  gravel  where  the  sun  had  lain,  the 
willows  sifting  their  inconstant  shadows  over 
us ;  and  I  thought  how  other  things  as 
precious  as  "  God's  water.  "  go  astray  on  the 
Jericho  road,  or  are  captured  and  sold  for  a 
price,  while  dry  hearts  ache  with  the  thirst 
that  asks  a  "  draught  divine." 

The  man's  felt  hat  she  wore,  pulled  down 
over  her  face,  was  pinned  to  her  coil  of 
braids  which  had  slipped  from  the  crown  of 
her  head.  The  hat  was  no  longer  even  a 


MAVERICK  109 

protection ;  she  cast  it  off,  and  the  blond 
braids,  that  had  not  been  smoothed  for  a 
day  and  night,  fell  like  ropes  down  her  back. 
The  sun  had  burned  her  cheeks  and  neck  to 
a  clear  crimson ;  her  blue  eyes  were  as  wild 
with  weeping  as  a  child's.  She  was  a  rose, 
but  a  rose  that  had  been  trampled  in  the 
dust ;  and  her  prayer  was  to  be  left  there, 
rather  than  that  we  should  take  her  home. 

I  suppose  I  must  have  had  some  influence 
over  her,  for  she  allowed  me  to  help  her  to  ar 
range  her  forlorn  disguise,  and  put  her  on  her 
horse,  which  was  more  than  could  have  been 
expected  from  the  way  she  had  received  me. 
And  so,  about  four  o'clock,  we  started  back. 

There  was  a  scene  when  we  headed  the 
horses  to  the  west ;  she  protesting  with  wild 
sobs  that  she  would  not,  could  not,  go  home, 
that  she  would  rather  die,  that  we  should 
never  get  her  back  alive,  and  so  on.  Mav 
erick  stood  aside  bitterly,  and  left  her  to 
me,  and  I  was  aware  of  a  grotesque  touch  of 
jealousy  —  which,  after  all,  was  perhaps 
natural  —  in  his  dour  face  whenever  he 
looked  back  at  us.  He  kept  some  distance 
ahead,  and  .waited  for  us  when  we  fell  too 
far  in  the  rear. 


110  MAVERICK 

This  would  happen  when  from  time  to 
time  her  situation  seemed  to  overpower  her, 
and  she  would  stop  in  the  road,  and  wring 
her  hands,  and  try  to  throw  herself  out  of 
the  saddle,  and  pray  me  to  let  her  go. 

"  Go  where  ?  "  I  would  ask.  "  Where  do 
you  wish  to  go  ?  Have  you  any  plan,  or 
suggestion,  that  I  could  help  you  to  carry 
out  ?  "  But  I  said  it  only  to  show  her  how 
hopeless  her  resistance  was.  This  she  would 
own  piteously,  and  say :  "  Nobody  can  help 
me.  There  ain't  nowhere  for  me  to  go. 
But  I  can't  go  back.  You  won't  let  him 
make  me,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Why  cannot  you  go  back  to  your  father 
and  your  brothers  ?  " 

This  would  usually  silence  her,  and,  set 
ting  her  teeth  upon  her  trouble,  she  would 
ride  on,  while  I  reproached  myself,  I  knew 
not  why. 

After  one  of  these  struggles  —  when  she 
had  given  in  to  the  force  of  circumstances, 
but  still  un consenting  and  rebellious  —  Mav 
erick  fell  back,  and  ranged  his  horse  by  her 
other  side. 

"  I  know  partly  what 's  troubling  you, 
and  I  'd  rid  you  of  that  part  quick  enough," 


MAVERICK  111 

he  said,  with  a  kind  of  dogged  patience  in 
his  hard  voice  ;  "  but  you  can't  get  on  there 
without  me.  You  know  that,  don't  you? 
You  don't  blame  me  for  staying  ?  " 

"  I  don't  blame  you  for  anything  but 
what  you  've  done  to-day.  You  've  broke 
my  heart,  and  ruined  me,  and  took  away  my 
last  chance,  and  I  .don't  care  what  becomes 
of  me,  so  I  don't  have  to  go  back." 

"  You  don't  have  to  any  more  than  you 
have  to  live.  Dyin'  is  a  good  deal  easier, 
but  we  can't  always  die  when  we  want  to. 
Suppose  I  found  a  little  lost  child  on  the 
road,  and  it  cried  to  go  home,  and  I  did  n't 
know  where  '  home '  was,  would  I  leave  it 
there  just  because  it  cried  and  hung  back? 
I'd  take  you  to  a  better  home  if  I  knew 
of  one ;  but  I  don't.  And  there 's  the  old 
man.  I  suppose  we  could  get  some  doctor 
to  certify  that  he 's  out  of  his  mind,  and  get 
him  sent  up  to  Blackfoot ;  but  I  guess  we  'd 
have  to  buy  the  doctor  first." 

"  Oh,  hush,  do,  and  leave  me  alone,"  she 
said. 

Maverick  dug  his  spurs  into  his  horse, 
and  plunged  ahead. 

"  There,"  she  cried,  "  now  you  know  part 


112  MAVERICK 

of  it ;  but  it 's  the  least  part  —  the  least, 
the  least !  Poor  father,  he  's  awful  queer. 
He  don't  more  than  half  the  time  know  who 
I  am,"  she  whispered.  "  But  it  ain't  him 
I  'm  running  away  from.  It 's  myself —  my 
own  life." 

"  What  is  it  —  can't  you  tell  me  ?  " 
She  shook  her  head,  but  she  kept  on  tell 
ing,  as  if  she  were  talking  to  herself. 

"  Father  he 's  like  I  told  you,  and  the 
boys  —  oh,  that 's  worse !  I  can't  get  a 
decent  woman  to  come  there  and  live,  and 
the  women  at  Arco  won't  speak  to  me 
because  I  'm  livin'  there  alone.  They  say 

—  they  think  I  ought  to  get  married  —  to 
Maverick  or  somebody.     I  '11  die  first.     I 
will  die,  if  there 's  any  way  to,  before  I  '11 
marry  him ! " 

This  may  not  sound  like  tragedy  as  I  tell 
it,  but  I  think  it  was  tragedy  to  her.  I 
tried  to  persuade  her  that  it  must  be  her 
imagination  about  the  women  at  Arco ;  or, 
if  some  of  them  did  talk,  —  as  indeed  I  my 
self  had  heard,  to  my  shame  and  disgust, 

—  I  told  her  I  had  never  known  that  place 
where  there  was  not  one  woman,  at  least, 
who  could  understand  and  help  another  in 
her  trouble. 


MAVERICK  113 

"/  don't  know  of  any,"  she  said  simply. 
There  was  no  more  to  do  but  ride  on, 
feeling  like  her  executioner ;  but 

"  Ride  hooly,  ride  hooly,  now,  gentlemen, 
Ride  hooly  now  wi'  me," 

came  into  my  mind  ;  and  no  man  ever  kept 
beside  a  "  wearier  burd,"  on  a  sadder  journey. 

At  dusk  we  came  to  Belgian  Flat,  and 
here  Maverick,  dismounting,  mixed  a  little 
whisky  in  his  flask  with  water  which  he 
dipped  from  the  pool.  She  must  have  re 
called  who  dug  the  well,  and  with  whom  she 
had  drunk  in  the  morning.  He  held  it  to 
her  lips.  She  rejected  it  with  a  strong 
shudder  of  disgust. 

"  Drink  it !  "  he  commanded.  "  You  '11 
kill  yourself,  carryin'  on  like  this."  He 
pressed  it  on  her,  but  she  turned  away  her 
face  like  a  sick  and  rebellious  child. 

"Maybe  she'll  drink  it  for  you,"  said 
Maverick,  with  bitter  patience,  handing  me 
the  cup. 

"  Will  you  ?  "  I  asked  her  gently.  She 
shook  her  head,  but  at  the  same  time  she  let 
me  take  her  hand,  and  put  it  down  from 
her  face,  and  I  held  the  cup  to  her  lips. 


114  MAVERICK 

She  drank  it,  every  drop.  It  made  her 
deathly  sick,  and  I  took  her  off  her  horse, 
and  made  a  pillow  of  my  coat,  so  that  she 
could  lie  down.  In  ten  minutes  she  was 
asleep.  Maverick  covered  her  with  his  coat 
after  she  was  no  longer  conscious. 

We  built  a  fire  on  the  edge  of  the  lava, 
for  we  were  both  chilled  and  both  miserable, 
each  for  his  own  part  in  that  day's  work. 

The  flat  is  a  little  cup-shaped  valley 
formed  by  high  hills,  like  dark  walls,  shut 
ting  it  in.  The  lava  creeps  up  to  it  in 
front. 

We  hovered  over  the  fire,  and  Maverick 
fed  it,  savagely,  in  silence.  He  did  not 
recognize  my  presence  by  a  word  —  not  so 
much  as  if  I  had  been  a  strange  dog.  I  re 
lieved  him  of  it  after  a  while,  and  went  out 
a  little  way  on  the  lava.  At  first  all  was 
blackness  after  the  strong  glare  of  the  fire  ; 
but  gradually  the  desolation  took  shape,  and 
I  stumbled  about  in  it,  with  my  shadow 
mocking  me  in  derisive  beckonings,  or 
crouching  close  at  my  heels,  as  the  red  flames 
towered  or  fell.  I  stayed  out  there  till  I 
was  chilled  to  the  bone,  and  then  went  back 
defiantly.  Maverick  sat  as  if  he  had  not 


MAVERICK  115 

moved,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  face  in 
his  hands.  I  wondered  if  he  were  think 
ing  of  that  other  sleeper  under  the  birches 
of  Deadman's  Gulch,  victim  of  an  unhappy 
girl's  revolt.  Had  she  loved  him?  Had  she 
deceived  him  as  well  as  herself  ?  It  seemed 
to  me  they  were  all  like  children  who  had 
lost  their  way  home. 

By  midnight  the  moon  had  risen  high 
enough  to  look  at  us  coldly  over  the  tops  of 
the  great  hills.  Their  shadows  crept  forth 
upon  the  lava.  The  fire  had  died  down. 
Maverick  rose,  and  scattered  the  winking 
brands  with  his  boot-heel. 

"  We  must  pull  out,"  he  said.  "  I  '11 
saddle  up,  if  you  will "  —  The  hoarseness 
in  his  voice  choked  him,  and  he  nodded 
toward  the  sleeper. 

I  dreaded  to  waken  the  poor  Rose.  She 
was  very  meek  and  quiet  after  the  brief 
respite  sleep  had  given  her.  She  sat  quite 
still,  and  watched  me  while  I  shook  the  sand 
from  my  coat,  put  it  on,  and  buttoned  it  to 
the  chin,  and  drew  my  hat  down  more 
firmly.  There  was  a  kind  of  magnetism  in 
her  gaze ;  I  felt  it  creep  over  me  like  the 
touch  of  a  soft  hand. 


116  MAVERICK 

When  her  horse  was  ready,  Maverick 
brought  it,  and  left  it  standing  near,  and 
went  back  to  his  own,  without  looking 
toward  us. 

"Come,  you  poor,  tired  little  girl,"  I 
said,  holding  out  my  hand.  She  could  not 
find  her  way  at  first  in  the  uncertain  light, 
and  she  seemed  half  asleep  still,  so  I  kept 
her  hand  in  mine,  and  guided  her  to  her 
horse.  "  Now,  once  more  up,"  I  encouraged 
her ;  and  suddenly  she  was  clinging  to  me, 
and  whispering  passionately : 

"  Can't  you  take  me  somewhere  ?  Where 
are  those  women  that  you  know  ? "  she 
cried,  shaking  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Dear  little  soul,  all  the  women  I  know 
are  two  thousand  miles  away,"  I  answered. 

"  But  can't  you  take  me  somewhere  ? 
There  must  be  some  place.  I  know  you 
would  be  good  to  me  ;  and  you  could  go 
away  afterward,  and  I  would  n't  trouble  you 
any  more." 

"  My  child,  there  is  not  a  place  under  the 
heavens  where  I  could  take  you.  You  must 
go  on  like  a  brave  girl,  and  trust  to  your 
friends.  Keep  up  your  heart,  and  the  way 
will  open.  God  will  not  forget  you,"  I 


MAVERICK  117 

said,  and  may  He  forgive  me  for  talking 
cant  to  that  poor  soul  in  her  bitter  ex 
tremity. 

She  stood  perfectly  still  one  moment 
while  I  held  her  by  the  hands.  I  think  she 
could  have  heard  my  heart  beat ;  but  there 
was  nothing  I  could  do.  Even  now  I  wake 
in  the  night,  and  wonder  if  there  was  any 
other  way  —  but  one  ;  the  way  that  for  one 
wild  moment  I  was  half  tempted  to  take. 

"  Yes  ;  the  way  will  open,"  she  said  very 
low.  She  cast  off  my  hands,  and  in  a 
second  she  was  in  the  saddle,  and  off  up  the 
road,  riding  for  her  life.  And  we  two  men 
knew  no  better  than  to  follow  her. 

I  knew  better,  or  I  think,  now,  that  I 
did.  I  told  Maverick  we  had  pushed  her 
far  enough.  I  begged  him  to  hold  up  and 
at  least  not  to  let  her  see  us  on  her  track. 
He  never  answered  a  word,  but  kept  straight 
on,  as  if  possessed.  I  don't  think  he  knew 
what  he  was  doing.  At  least  there  was  only 
one  thing  he  was  capable  of  doing  —  follow 
ing  that  girl  till  he  dropped. 

Two  miles  beyond  the  Flat  there  is  an 
other  turn,  where  the  shoulder  of  a  hiD 
comes  down  and  crowds  the  road,  which 


118  MAVERICK 

passes  out  of  sight.  She  saw  us  hard  upon 
her,  as  she  reached  this  bend.  Maverick 
was  ahead.  Her  horse  was  doing  all  he 
could,  but  it  was  plain  he  could  not  do 
much  more.  She  looked  back,  and  flung 
out  her  hand  in  the  man's  sleeve  that  half 
covered  it.  She  gave  a  little  whimpering 
cry,  the  most  dreadful  sound  I  ever  heard 
from  any  hunted  thing. 

We  made  the  turn  after  her ;  and  there 
lay  the  road  white  in  the  moonlight,  and  as 
bare  as  my  hand.  She  had  escaped  us. 

We  pulled  up  the  horses,  and  listened. 
Not  a  sound  came  from  the  hills  or  the  dark 
gulches,  where  the  wind  was  stirring  the 
quaking  asps ;  the  lonesome  hush-sh  made 
the  silence  deeper.  But  we  heard  a  horse's 
step  go  clink,  clinking  —  a  loose,  uncertain 
step  wandering  away  in  the  lava. 

"  Look !  look  there !  My  God !  "  groaned 
Maverick. 

There  was  her  horse  limping  along  one  of 
the  hollow  ridges,  but  the  saddle  was  empty. 

"  She  has  taken  to  the  lava  !  " 

I  had  no  need  to  be  told  what  that  meant ; 
but  if  I  had  needed,  I  learned  what  it 
meant  before  the  night  was  through.  I 


MAVERICK  119 

think  that  if  I  were  a  poet,  I  could  add 
another  "  dolorous  circle "  to  the  wailing- 
place  for  lost  souls. 

But  she  had  found  a  way.  Somewhere 
in  that  stony-hearted  wilderness  she  is  at 
rest.  We  shall  see  her  again  when  the  sea 
—  the  stupid,  cruel  sea  that  crawls  upon  the 
land  —  gives  up  its  dead. 


ON  A  SIDE-TRACK 


IT  was  the  second  week  in  February,  but 
winter  had  taken  a  fresh  hold:  the  stock 
men  were  grumbling ;  freight  was  dull,  and 
travel  light  on  the  white  Northwestern  lines. 
In  the  Portland  car  from  Omaha  there  were 
but  four  passengers :  father  and  daughter, 
—  a  gentle,  unsophisticated  pair,  —  and  two 
strong-faced  men,  fellow-travelers  also,  keep 
ing  each  other's  company  in  a  silent  but 
close  and  conspicuous  proximity.  They 
shared  the  same  section,  the  younger  man 
sleeping  above,  going  to  bed  before,  and 
rising  later  than,  his  companion  ;  and  when 
ever  he  changed  his  seat  or  made  an  unex 
pected  movement,  the  eyes  of  the  elder  man 
followed  him,  and  they  were  never  far  from 
him  at  any  time. 

The  elder  was  a  plain  farmer  type  of  man, 
with  a  clean-shaven,  straight  upper  lip,  a 
grizzled  beard  covering  the  lower  half  of  his 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  121 

face,  and  humorous  wrinkles  spreading  from 
the  corners  of  his  keen  gray  eyes. 

The  younger  showed  in  his  striking  per 
son  that  union  of  good  blood  with  hard  con 
ditions  so  often  seen  in  the  old-young  grad 
uates  of  the  life  schools  of  the  West.  His 
hands  and  face  were  dark  with  exposure  to 
the  sun,  not  of  parks  and  club-grounds  and 
seaside  piazzas,  but  the  dry  untempered 
light  of  the  desert  and  the  plains.  His  dark 
eye  was  distinctively  masculine, — if  there 
be  such  a  thing  as  gender  in  features, — 
bold,  ardent,  and  possessive;  but  now  it 
was  clouded  with  sadness  that  did  not  pass 
like  a  mood,  though  he  looked  capable  of 
moods.  - :  •  «• 

He  was  dressed  in  the  demi-toilet  which 
answers  for  dinners  in  the  West,  on  occa 
sions  where  a  dress-coat  is  not  required.  In 
itself  the  costume  was  correct,  even  fastid 
ious,  in  its  details,  but  on  board  an  over 
land  train  there  was  a  foppish  unsuitability 
in  it  that  "gave  the  wearer  away,"  as  an 
other  man  would  have  said  —  put  him  at  a 
disadvantage,  notwithstanding  his  splendid 
physique,  and  the  sad,  rather  fine  preoccu 
pation  of  his  manner.  He  looked  like  a 


122  ON  A  SIDE-TRACK 

very  real  person  dressed  for  a  trifling  part, 
which  he  lays  aside  between  the  scenes 
while  he  thinks  about  his  sick  child,  or 
his  debts,  or  his  friend  with  whom  he  has 
quarreled. 

But  these  incongruities,  especially  the  one 
of  dress,  might  easily  have  escaped  a  pair  of 
eyes  so  confiding  and  unworldly  as  those  of 
the  young  girl  in  the  opposite  section ;  they 
had  escaped  her,  but  not  the  incongruity  of 
youth  with  so  much  sadness.  The  girl  and 
her  father  had  boarded  the  car  at  Omaha, 
escorted  by  the  porter  of  one  of  the  forward 
sleepers  on  the  same  train.  They  had  come 
from  farther  East.  The  old  gentleman 
appeared  to  be  an  invalid;  .but  they  gave 
little  trouble.  The  porter  had  much  leisure 
on  his  hands,  which  he  bestowed  in  arrears 
of  sleep  on  the  end  seat  forward.  The  con 
ductor  made  up  his  accounts  hi  the  empty 
drawing-room,  or  looked  at  himself  in  the 
mirrors,  or  stretched  his  legs  on  the  velvet 
sofas.  He  was  a  young  fellow,  with  a  ten 
dency  to  jokes  and  snatches  of  song  and 
talk  of  a  light  character  when  not  on  duty. 
He  talked  sometimes  with  the  porter  in  low 
tones,  and  then  both  looked  at  the  pair  of 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  123 

travelers  in  No.  8,  and  the  younger  man 
seemed  moodily  aware  of  their  observation. 

On  the  first  morning  out  from  Omaha  the 
old  gentleman  kept  his  berth  until  nine  or 
ten  o'clock.  At  eight  his  daughter  brought 
him  a  cup  of  chocolate  and  a  sandwich,  and 
sat  between  his  curtains,  chatting  with  him 
cozily.  In  speaking  together  they  used  the 
language  of  the  Society  of  Friends. 

The  young  man  opposite  listened  atten 
tively  to  the  girl's  voice ;  it  was  as  sweet  as 
the  piping  of  birds  at  daybreak.  Phebe 
her  father  called  her. 

Afterward  Phebe  sat  in  the  empty  section 
next  her  father's.  The  table  before  her 
was  spread  with  a  fresh  napkin,  and  a  few 
pieces  of  old  household  silver  and  china 
which  she  had  taken  from  her  lunch-basket. 

She  and  her  father  were  economical 
travelers,  but  in  all  their  belongings  there 
was  the  refinement  of  modest  suitability  and 
an  exquisite  cleanliness.  Her  own  order  for 
breakfast  was  confined  to  a  cup  of  coffee, 
which  the  porter  was  preparing  in  the 
buffet-kitchen. 

"  Would  you  mind  changing  places  with 
me?" 


124  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

The  young  man  in  No.  8  spoke  to  his 
companion,  who  sat  opposite  reading  a  news 
paper.  They  changed  seats,  and  by  this  ar 
rangement  the  younger  could  look  at  Phebe, 
who  innocently  gave  him  every  advantage  to 
study  her  sober  and  delicate  profile  against 
the  white  snow-light,  as  she  sat  watching  the 
dreary  cattle-ranges  of  Wyoming  swim  past 
the  car  window. 

Her  hair  had  been  brushed,  and  her  face 
washed  in  the  bitter  alkaline  waters  of  the 
plains,  with  the  uncompromising  severity  of 
one  whose  standards  of  personal  adornment 
are  limited  to  the  sternest  ideals  of  neat 
ness  and  purity.  Yet  her  fair  face  bloomed, 
like  a  winter  sunrise,  with  tints  of  rose  and 
pearl  and  sapphire  blue,  and  the  pale  gold 
of  winter  sunshine  was  in  her  satin-smooth 
hair. 

The  young  man  did  not  fail  to  include  in 
his  study  of  Phebe  the  modest  breakfast 
equipment  set  out  before  her.  He  perfectly 
recalled  the  pattern  of  the  white-and-gold 
china,  the  touch,  the  very  taste,  of  the  thin, 
bright  old  silver  spoons ;  they  were  like  his 
grandmother's  tea-things  in  the  family  home 
stead  in  the  country,  where  he  had  spent 


ON  A    BIDS-TRACK  125 

his  summers  as  a  boy.  The  look  of  them 
touched  him  nearly,  but  not  happily,  it 
would  seem,  from  his  expression. 

The  porter  came  with  the  cup  of  coffee, 
and  offered  a  number  of  patronizing  sugges 
tions  in  the  line  of  his  service,  which  the 
young  girl  declined.  She  set  forth  a  meek 
choice  of  food,  blushing  faintly  in  depreca 
tion  of  the  young  man's  eyes,  of  which  she 
began  to  be  aware.  Evidently  she  wai  not 
yet  hardened  to  the  practice  of  eating  in 
public. 

He  took  the  hint,  and  retired  to  his  cor 
ner,  opening  a  newspaper  between  himself 
and  Phebe. 

Presently  he  heard  her  call  the  porter  in 
a  small,  ineffectual  voice.  The  porter  did 
not  come.  She  waited  a  little,  and  called 
again,  with  no  better  result.  He  put  down 
his  newspaper. 

"  If  you  will  press  the  button  at  your 
left,"  he  suggested. 

"  The  button !  "  she  repeated,  looking  at 
him  helplessly. 

He  sprang  to  assist  her.  As  he  did  so 
his  companion  flung  down  his  paper,  and 
jumped  in  front  of  him.  The  eyes  of  the 


126  ON  A  SIDE-TRACK 

two  met.  A  hot  flush  rose  to  the  young 
man's  eyebrows. 

"  I  am  calling  the  porter  for  her." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  other,  and  he  sat  down 
again  ;  but  he  kept  an  eye  upon  the  angry 
youth,  who  leaned  across  Phebe's  seat,  and 
touched  the  electric  button. 

"Little  girl  hadn't  got  on  to  it,  eh?" 
the  grizzled  man  remarked  pleasantly,  when 
his  companion  had  resumed  his  seat. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  Nice  folks ;  from  the  country,  some- 
wheres  back  East,  I  should  guess,"  the  im 
perturbable  one  continued.  "Old  man 
seems  sort  of  sickly.  Making  a  move  on 
account  of  his  health,  likely.  Great  mis 
take —  old  folks  turning  out  in  winter 
huntin'  a  climate." 

The  young  man  remained  silent,  and  the 
elder  returned  to  his  paper. 

At  Cheyenne,  where  the  train  halts  for 
dinner,  the  young  girl  helped  her  father 
into  his  outer  garments,  buttoned  herself 
hastily  into  her  homespun  jacket  bordered 
with  gray  fur,  pinned  her  little  hat  firmly  to 
her  crown  of  golden  braids,  hid  her  hands 
in  her  muff,  —  she  did  not  wait  to  put  on 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  127 

gloves,  —  and  led  the  way  to  the  dining- 
room. 

The  travelers  in  No.  8  disposed  of  their 
meal  rapidly,  in  their  usual  close  but  silent 
conjunction,  and  returned  at  once  to  the  car. 

The  old  gentleman  and  his  daughter 
walked  the  windy  platform,  and  cast  rather 
forlorn  glances  at  the  crowd  bustling  about 
in  the  bleak  winter  sunlight.  When  they 
took  their  seats  again,  the  father's  pale  blue 
eyes  were  still  paler,  his  face  looked  white 
and  drawn  with  the  cold ;  but  Phebe  was 
like  a  rose :  with  her  wonderful,  pure  color 
the  girl  was  beautiful.  The  young  man  of 
No.  8  looked  at  her  with  a  startled  reluctance, 
as  if  her  sweetness  wounded  him. 

Then  he  seemed  to  have  resolved  to  look 
at  her  no  more.  He  leaned  his  head  back 
in  his  corner,  and  closed  his  eyes  ;  the  train 
shook  him  slightly  as  he  sat  in  moody  pre 
occupation  with  his  thoughts,  and  the  miles 
of  track  flew  by. 

At  Green  River,  at  midnight,  the  Port 
land  car  was  dropped  by  its  convoy  of  the 
Union  Pacific,  and  was  coupled  with  a  train 
making  up  for  the  Oregon  Short  Line. 
There  was  hooting  and  backing  of  engines, 


128  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

slamming  of  car  doors,  flashing  of  con 
ductors'  lanterns,  voices  calling  across  the 
tracks.  One  of  these  voices  could  be  heard, 
in  the  wakeful  silence  within  the  car,  as  an 
engine  from  the  west  steamed  past  in  the 
glare  of  its  snow-wreathed  headlight. 

"  No.  10  stuck  this  side  of  Squaw  Creek. 
Bet  you  don't  make  it  before  Sunday !  " 

The  outbound  conductor's  retort  was  lost 
in  the  clank  of  couplings  as  the  train 
lurched  forward  on  the  slippery  rails. 

"  Phebe,  is  thee  awake  ?  "  the  old  gentle 
man  softly  called  to  his  daughter,  about  the 
small  hours. 

"  Yes,  father.     Want  anything  ?  " 

"Are 'those  ventilators  shut?  I  feel  a 
cold  draft  in  the  back  of  my  berth." 

The  ventilators  were  all  shut,  but  the 
train  was  now  climbing  the  Wind  River 
divide,  the  cold  bitterly  increasing,  and  the 
wind  dead  ahead.  Cinders  tinkled  on  the 
roaring  stovepipes,  the  blast  swept  the  car 
roofs,  pelting  the  window  panes  with  fine, 
dry  snow,  and  searching  every  joint  and 
crevice  defended  by  the  company's  uphol 
stery. 

Phebe  slipped  down  behind  the  berth-cur- 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  129 

tain,  and  tucked  a  shawl  in  at  her  father's 
back.  Her  low  voice  could  be  heard,  and 
the  old  man's  self -pitying  tones  in  answer 
to  her  tender  questionings.  He  coughed 
at  intervals  till  daybreak,  when  there  was 
silence  in  section  No.  7. 

In  No.  8,  across  the  aisle,  the  young  man 
lay  awake  in  the  strength  of  his  thoughts, 
and  made  up  passionate  sentences  which 
he  fancied  himself  speaking  to  persons  he 
might  never  be  brought  face* to  face  with 
again.  They  were  people  mixed  in  with 
his  life  in  various  relations,  past  and  pres 
ent,  whose  opinions  had  weighed  with  him. 
When  he  heard  Phebe  talking  to  her  father, 
he  muttered,  with  a  sort  of  anguish  :  — 

u  Oh,  you  precious  lamb !  " 

He  and  his  companion  made  their  toilet 
early,  and  breakfasted  and  smoked  together, 
and  their  taciturn  relation  continued  as  be 
fore.  Snow  filled  the  air,  and  blotted  out  the 
distance,  but  there  were  few  stationary  dark 
objects  outside  by  which  to  gauge  its  fall. 
They  were  across  the  border  now,  between 
Wyoming  and  Idaho,  in  a  featureless  white 
region,  a  country  of  small  Mormon  ranches, 
far  from  any  considerable  town. 


130  ON  A  SIDE-TRACK 

The  old  man  slept  behind  his  curtains. 
Phebe  went  through  the  morning  routine  by 
which  women  travelers  make  themselves  at 
home  and  pass  the  time,  but  obviously  her 
day  did  not  begin  until  her  father  had  re 
ported  himself.  She  had  found  a  hole  in 
one  of  her  gloves,  which  she  was  mending, 
choosing  critically  the  needle  and  the  silk 
for  the  purpose  from  a  very  complete  house 
wife  in  brown  linen  bound  with  a  brown 
silk  galloon.'  Again  the  young  man  was 
reminded  of  his  boyhood,  and  of  certain 
kind  old  ladies  of  precise  habits  who  had 
contributed  to  his  happiness,  and  occasion 
ally  had  eked  out  the  fond  measure  of  pater 
nal  discipline. 

The  snow  continued ;  about  noon  the 
train  halted  at  a  small  water  station,  waited 
awhile  as  if  in  consideration  of  difficulties 
ahead,  and  then  quietly  backed  down  upon 
a  side-track.  A  shock  of  silence  followed. 
Every  least  personal  movement  in  the  thinly 
peopled  car,  before  lost  in  the  drumming  of 
the  wheels,  asserted  itself  against  this  new 
medium.  The  passengers  looked  up  and  at 
one  another ;  the  Pullman  conductor  stepped 
out  to  make  inquiries. 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  131 

The  silence  continued,  and  became  em 
barrassing.  Phebe  dropped  her  scissors. 
This  time  the  young  man  sat  still,  but  the 
flush  rose  to  his  forehead  as  before.  The 
old  gentleman's  breathing  could  be  heard  be 
hind  his  curtains  ;  the  porter  rattling  plates 
in  the  cooking-closet ;  the  soft  rustling  of 
the  snow  outside.  Phebe  stepped  to  her  fa 
ther's  berth,  and  peeped  between  his  curtains ; 
he  was  still  sleeping.  Her  voice  was  hushed 
to  the  note  of  a  sick-room  as  she  asked,  — 

"  Where  are  we  now,  do  you  know  ?  " 

The  young  man  was  looking  at  her,  and 
to  him  she  addressed  the  question. 

With  a  glance  at  his  companion,  he 
crossed  to  her  side  of  the  car,  and  took  the 
seat  in  front  of  her. 

"  We  are  in  the  Bear  Lake  valley,  just 
over  the  border  of  Idaho,  about  fifteen 
miles  from  the  Squaw  Creek  divide,"  he 
answered,  sinking  his  voice. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  that  person  said  hi 
the  night,  when  a  train  passed  us,  about 
our  not  getting  through  ?  " 

"  I  wondered  if  you  heard  that."  He 
smiled.  "  You  did  not  rest  well,  I  'm 
afraid." 


132  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

"  I  was  anxious  about  father.  This 
weather  is  a  great  surprise  to  us.  We 
were  told  the  winters  were  short  in  southern 
Idaho  —  almost  like  Virginia  ;  but  look  at 
this ! " 

"  We  have  nearly  eight  thousand  feet  of 
altitude  here,  you  must  remember.  In  the 
valleys  it  is  warmer.  There  the  winter  does 
break  usually  about  this  time.  Are  you 
going  on  much  farther  ?  " 

"  To  a  place  called  Volney." 

"  Volney  is  pretty  high ;  but  there  is 
Boise,  farther  down.  Strangers  moving 
into  a  new  country  very  seldom  strike  it 
right  the  first  time." 

"  Oh,  we  shall  stay  at  Volney,  even  if  we 
do  not  like  it ;  that  is,  if  we  can  stay. 
I  have  a  married  sister  living  there.  She 
thought  the  climate  would  be  better  for 
father." 

After  a  pause  she  asked,  "  Do  you  know 
why  we  are  stopping  here  so  long  ?  " 

"  Probably  because  we  have  had  orders 
not  to  go  any  farther." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  we  are  blocked  ?  " 

"  The  train  ahead  of  us  is.  We  shall 
stay  here  until  that  gets  through." 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  133 

"  You  seem  very  cheerful  about  it,"  she 
said,  observing  his  expression. 

"  Ah,  I  should  think  so !  " 

His  short  lip  curled  in  the  first  smile  she 
had  seen  upon  his  strong,  brooding  face. 
She  could  not  help  smiling  in  response,  but 
she  felt  bound  to  protest  against  his  irre 
sponsible  view  of  the  situation. 

"  Have  you  so  much  tune  to  spend  upon 
the  road  ?  I  thought  the  men  of  this 
country  were  always  in  a  hurry." 

"  It  makes  a  difference  where  a  man  is 
going,  and  on  what  errand,  and  what  for 
tune  he  meets  with  on  the  way.  I  am  not 
going  to  Volney." 

She  did  not  understand  his  emphasis,  nor 
the  bearing  of  his  words.  His  eyes  dropped 
to  her  hands  lying  in  her  lap,  still  holding 
the  glove  she  had  been  mending. 

"  How  nicely  you  do  it !  How  can  you 
take  such  little  stitches  without  pricking 
yourself,  when  the  train  is  going  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  business  to  take  little  stitches. 
I  don't  know  how  to  do  anything  else." 

"  Do  you  mean  it  literally  ?  It  is  your 
business  to  sew  ?  " 

The  notion  seemed  to  surprise  him. 


134  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

"  No  ;  I  mean  in  a  general  sense.  Some 
of  us  can  do  only  small  things,  a  stitch  at  a 
time,  —  take  little  steps,  and  not  know 
always  where  they  are  going." 

"  Is  this  a  little  step  —  to  Volney  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  it  is  a  very  long  one,  and 
rather  a  wild  one,  I  'm  afraid.  I  suppose 
everybody  does  a  wild  thing  once  in  a  life 
time?" 

"  How  should  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  I  only  said  so.  I  don't  say  that  it  is 
true." 

"  People  who  take  little  steps  are  some 
times  picked  up  and  carried  off  their  feet 
by  those  who  take  long,  wild  ones." 

"  Why,  what  are  we  talking  about  ?  "  she 
asked  herself,  in  surprise. 

"  About  going  to  Volney,  was  it  not  ?  " 
he  suggested. 

"  What  is  there  about  Volney,  please  tell 
me,  that  you  harp  upon  the  name  ?  I  am 
a  stranger,  you  know ;  I  don't  know  the 
country  allusions.  Is  there  anything  pecu 
liar  about  Volney  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  deep  little  innocent,"  he  said 
within  himself ;  "  but  oh,  so  innocent !  " 
And  again  he  appeared  to  gather  himself 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  135 

in  pained  resistance  to  some  thought  that 
jarred  with  the  thought  of  Phebe.  He  rose 
and  bowed,  and  so  took  leave  of  her,  and 
settled  himself  back  into  his  corner,  shading 
his  eyes  with  his  hand. 

He  ate  no  luncheon,  Phebe  noticed,  and 
he  sat  so  long  hi  a  dogged  silence  that  she 
began  to  cast  wistful  glances  across  the 
aisle,  wondering  if  he  were  ill,  or  if  she  had 
unwittingly  been  rude  to  him.  Any  one 
could  have  shaken  her  confidence  in  her 
own  behavior ;  moreover,  she  reminded  her 
self,  she  did  not  know  the  etiquette  of  an 
overland  train.  She  had  heard  that  the 
Western  people  were  very  friendly ;  no  doubt 
they  expected  a  frank  response  in  others. 
She  resolved  to  be  more  careful  the  next 
time,  if  the  moody  young  man  should  speak 
to  her  again. 

Her  father  was  awake  now,  dressed  and 
sitting  up.  He  was  very  chipper,  but  Phebe 
knew  that  his  color  was  not  natural,  nor  his 
breathing  right.  He  was  much  inclined  to 
talk,  in  a  rambling,  childish,  excited  manner 
that  increased  her  anxiety. 

The  young  man  in  No.  8  had  evidently 
taken  his  fancy;  his  formal,  old-fashioned 
advances  were  modestly  but  promptly  met. 


136  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

"  I  suppose  it  is  not  usual,  in  these  parts, 
for  travelers  to  inquire  each  other's  names  ?  " 
the  old  gentleman  remarked  to  his  new  ac 
quaintance  ;  "  but  we  seem  to  have  plenty 
of  time  on  our  hands ;  we  might  as  well 
improve  it  socially.  My  name  is  David 
Underhill,  and  this  is  my  daughter  Phebe. 
Now  what  might  thy  name  be,  friend  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Ludovic,"  said  the  youth, 
looking  a  half -apology  at  Phebe,  who  saw  no 
reason  for  it. 

"  First  or  family  name  ?  " 

"  Ludovic  is  my  family  name." 

"  And  a  very  good  name  it  is,"  said  the 
old  gentleman.  "  Not  a  common  name  in 
these  parts,  I  should  say,  but  one  very  well 
and  highly  known  to  me,"  he  added,  with 
pleased  emphasis.  "  Phebe,  thee  remem 
bers  a  visit  we  had  from  Martin  Ludovic 
when  we  were  living  at  New  Rochelle  ?  " 

"  Thee  knows  I  was  not  born  when  you 
lived  at  New  Rochelle,  father  dear." 

"  True,  true  !  It  was  thy  mother  I  was 
thinking  of.  She  had  a  great  esteem  for 
Martin  Ludovic.  He  was  one  of  the  world's 
people,  as  we  say  —  in  the  world,  but  not 
of  the  world.  Yet  he  made  a  great  success 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  137 

in  life.  He  was  her  father's  junior  partner 
—  rose  from  a  clerk's  stool  in  his  counting- 
room  ;  and  a  great  success  he  made  of  it. 
But  that  was  after  Friend  Lawrence's  time. 
My  wife  was  Phebe  Lawrence." 

Young  Ludovic  smiled  brightly  in  reply 
to  this  information,  and  seemed  about  to 
speak,  but  the  old  gentleman  forestalled 
him. 

"  Friend  Lawrence  had  made  what  was 
considered  a  competence  in  those  days  —  a 
very  small  one  it  would  be  called  now ;  but 
he  was  satisfied.  Thee  may  not  be  aware 
that  it  is  a  recommendation  among  the 
Friends,  and  it  used  to  be  a  common  practice, 
that  when  a  merchant  had  made  a  suffi 
ciency  for  himself  and  those  depending  on 
him,  he  should  show  his  sense  of  the  favor 
of  Providence  by  stepping  out  and  leaving 
his  chance  to  the  younger  men.  Friend 
Lawrence  did  so  —  not  to  his  own  benefit 
ultimately,  though  that  was  no  one's  fault 
that  ever  I  heard ;  and  Martin  Ludovic  was 
his  successor,  and  a  great  and  honorable 
business  was  the  outcome  of  his  efforts. 
Now  does  thee  happen  to  recall  if  Martin  is 
a  name  in  thy  branch  ?  " 


138  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

"  My  grandfather  was  Martin  Ludovic  of 
the  old  New  York  house  of  Lawrence  and 
Ludovic,"  said  the  cadet  of  that  name ;  but 
as  he  gave  these  credentials  a  profound 
melancholy  subdued  his  just  and  natural 
pride. 

"  Is  it  possible ! "  Friend  Underbill  ex 
ulted,  more  pleased  than  if  he  had  recovered 
a  lost  bank-note  for  many  hundreds.  There 
are  no  people  who  hold  by  the  ties  of  blood 
and  family  more  strongly  than  the  Friends  ; 
and  Friend  Underbill,  on  this  long  journey, 
had  felt  himself  sadly  insolvent  in  those 
sureties  that  cannot  be  packed  in  a  trunk 
or  invested  in  irrigable  lands.  It  was  as  if 
on  the  wild,  cold  seas  he  had  crossed  the 
path  of  a  bark  from  home.  He  yearned  to 
have  speech  with  this  graciously  favored 
young  man,  whose  grandfather  had  been 
his  Phebe's  grandfather's  partner  and  dear 
est  friend.  The  memory  of  that  connec 
tion  had  been  cherished  with  ungrudging 
pride  through  the  succeeding  generations 
in  which  the  Ludovics  had  gone  up  in  the 
world  and  the  Lawrences  had  come  down. 
Friend  Underbill  did  not  recall — nor  would 
he  have  thought  it  of  the  least  importance 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  139 

—  that  a  Lawrence  had  been  the  benefactor 
in  the  first  place,  and  had  set  Martin  Ludo- 
vic's  feet  upon  the  ladder  of  success.  He 
took  the  young  man's  hand  affectionately  in 
his  own,  and  studied  the  favor  of  his  coun 
tenance. 

"Thee  has  the  family  look,"  he  said  in 
a  satisfied  tone ;  "  and  they  had  no  cause, 
as  a  rule,  to  be  discontented  with  their 
looks." 

Young  Ludovic's  eyes  fell,  and  he  blushed 
like  a  girl ;  the  dark-red  blood  dyed  his  face 
with  the  color  almost  of  shame.  Phebe 
moved  uneasily  in  her  seat. 

"Make  room  beside  thee,  Phebe,"  said 
her  father ;  "or,  no,  friend  Ludovic ;  sit 
thee  here  beside  me.  If  the  train  should 
start,  I  could  hear  thee  better.  And  thy 
name  —  let  me  see  —  thee  must  be  a  Charles 
Ludovic.  In  thy  family  there  was  always 
a  Martin,  and  then  an  Aloys,  and  then  a 
Charles;  and  it  was  said — though  a  fool 
ish  superstition,  no  doubt — that  the  king's 
name  brought  ill  luck.  The  Ludovic  whose 
turn  it  was  to  bear  the  name  of  the  unhappy 
Stuart  took  with  it  the  misfortunes  of  three 
generations." 


140  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

"  A  very  unjust  superstition  I  should  call 
it,"  pronounced  Phebe. 

"  Surely,  and  a  very  idle  one,"  her  father 
acquiesced,  smiling  at  her  warmth.  "  I 
trust,  friend  Charles,  it  has  been  given  thee 
happily  to  disprove  it  in  thy  own  person." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Charles  Ludo- 
vic,  "  if  I  am  not  the  unluckiest  of  my  name, 
I  hope  there  may  never  be  another." 

He  spoke  with  such  conviction,  such  en 
ergy  of  sadness,  only  silence  could  follow 
the  words.  Then  the  old  gentleman  said, 
most  gently  and  ruefully :  — 

"If  it  be  indeed  as  thee  says,  I  trust  it 
will  not  seem  an  intrusion,  in  one  who  knew 
thy  family's  great  worth,  to  ask  the  nature 
of  thy  trouble  —  if  by  chance  it  might  be 
my  privilege  to  assist  thee.  I  feel  of  rather 
less  than  my  usual  small  importance  —  cast 
loose,  as  it  were,  between  the  old  and  the  new ; 
but  if  my  small  remedies  should  happen  to 
suit  with  thy  complaint,  it  would  not  matter 
that  they  were  trifling  —  like  Phebe' s  drops 
and  pellets  she  puts  such  faith  in,"  he  added, 
with  a  glance  at  his  daughter's  downcast 
face. 

"Dear  sir,  you  have  helped  me,  by  the 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  141 

gift  of  the  outstretched  hand.  Between 
strangers,  as  we  are,  that  implies  a  faith  as 
generous  as  it  is  rare." 

"  Nay,  we  are  not  strangers ;  no  one  of 
thy  name  shall  call  himself  stranger  to  one 
of  ours.  Shall  he,  Phebe  ?  Still,  I  would 
not  importune  thee  "  — 

"  I  thank  you  far  more  than  you  can 
know  ;  but  we  need  not  talk  of  my  troubles. 
It  was  a  graceless  speech  of  mine  to  obtrude 
them." 

"  As  thee  will.  But  I  deny  the  lack  of 
grace.  The  gracelessness  was  mine  to  bring 
up  a  foolish  saying,  more  honored  in  the 
forgetting." 

Here  Phebe  interposed  with  a  spoonful  of 
the  medicine  her  father  had  referred  to  so 
disparagingly.  "  I  would  not  talk  any  more 
now,  if  I  were  thee,  father.  Thee  sees  how 
it  makes  thee  cough." 

At  this,  Ludovic  rose  to  leave  them ;  but 
Phebe  detained  him,  shyly  doing  the  honors 
of  their  quarters  in  the  common  caravan. 
He  stayed,  but  a  constrained  silence  had 
come  upon  him.  The  old  gentleman  closed 
his  eyes,  and  sometimes  smiled  to  himself 
as  he  sat  so,  beside  the  younger  man,  and 


142  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

Phebe  had  strange  thoughts  as  she  looked 
at  them  both.  Her  imagination  was  greatly 
stirred.  She  talked  easily  and  with  per 
fect  unconsciousness  to  Ludovic,  and  told 
him  little  things  she  could  remember  having 
heard  about  the  one  generation  of  his  family 
that  had  formerly  been  connected  with  her 
own.  She  knew  more  about  it,  it  appeared, 
than  he  did.  And  more  and  more  he  seemed 
to  lose  himself  in  her  eyes,  rather  than  to  be 
listening  to  her  voice.  He  sat  with  his  back 
to  his  companion  across  the  aisle ;  at  length 
the  latter  rose,  and  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder.  He  turned  instantly,  and  Phebe, 
looking  up,  caught  the  hard,  roused  expres 
sion  that  altered  him  into  the  likeness  of 
another  man. 

"  I  am  going  outside."  No  more  was 
said,  but  Ludovic  rose,  bowed  to  Phebe,  and 
followed  his  curt  fellow-passenger. 

"  What  can  be  the  connection  between 
them  ?  "  thought  the  girl.  "  They  seem  in 
separable,  yet  not  friends  precisely.  How 
could  they  be  friends?  "  And  in  her  prompt 
mental  comparison  the  elder  man  inevitably 
suffered.  She  began  to  think  of  all  the 
tragedies  with  which  young  lives  are  fatal- 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  143 

istically  bound  up;  but  it  was  significant 
that  none  of  her  speculations  included  the 
possibility  of  anything  in  the  nature  of  error 
in  respect  to  this  Charles  Ludovic  who 
called  himself  unhappy. 

II 

"Stop  a  moment.  I  want  to  speak  to 
you,"  said  Ludovic.  The  two  men  were 
passing  through  the  gentlemen's  toilet-room ; 
Ludovic  turned  his  back  to  the  marble  wash- 
stand,  and  waited,  with  his  head  up,  and  the 
tips  of  his  long  hands  resting  in  his  trousers' 
pockets.  "  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you,  Mr. 
Burke." 

"  Well,  sir,  what 's  the  size  of  it  ?  " 
"  You  must  have  heard  some  of  our  talk 
in  there ;  you  see  how  it.  is  ?  They  will 
never,  of  themselves,  suspect  the  reason  of 
your  fondness  for  my  company.  Is  it  worth 
while,  for  the  time  we  shall  be  together,  to 
put  them  on  to  it  ?  It 's  not  very  easy,  you 
see ;  make  it  as  easy  as  you  can." 

"  Have  I  tried  to  make  it  hard,  Mr.  Lu 
dovic  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.     I  don't  mean  that." 
"Am  I   giving  you   away  most   of   the 
time?" 


144  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

"  Of  course  not.  You  have  been  most 
awfully  good.  But  you  're  —  you  're  dam 
nably  in  my  way.  I  see  you  out  of  the  corner 
of  my  eye  always,  when  you  are  n't  square  in 
front  of  me.  I  can't  make  a  move  but  you 
jump.  Do  you  think  I  am  such  a  fool  as  to 
make  a  break  now  ?  No,  sir ;  I  am  going 
through  with  this  ;  I  'm  in  it  most  of  the 
tune.  Now  see  here,  I  give  you  my  word 
—  and  there  are  no  liars  of  my  name  —  that 
you  will  find  me  with  you  at  Pocatello. 
Till  then  let  me  alone,  will  you  ?  Keep 
your  eyes  off  me.  Keep  out  of  range  of  my 
talk.  I  would  like  to  say  a  word  now  and 
then  without  knowing  there 's  a  running 
comment  in  the  mind  of  a  man  across  the 
car,  who  thinks  he  knows  me  better  than  the 
people  I  am  talking  to  —  understand  ?  " 

"  Maybe  I  do,  maybe  I  don't,"  said  Mr. 
Burke,  deliberately.  "  I  don't  know  as  it 's 
any  of  my  business  what  you  say  to  your 
friends,  or  what  they  think  of  you.  All 
I  'm  responsible  for  is  your  person." 

"  Precisely.  At  Pocatello  you  will  have 
my  person." 

"  And  have  I  got  your  word  for  the  road 
between  ?  " 


ON  A  SIDE-TRACK  145 

"  My  word,  and  my  thanks  —  if  the 
thanks  of  a  man  in  my  situation  are  worth 
anything." 

"  I  'm  dum  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Ludovic, 
and  I  don't  mind  doing  what  little  I  can  to 
make  things  easy  "  —  Mr.  Burke  paused, 
seeing  his  companion  smile.  "Well,  yes, 
I  know  it  's  hard  —  it 's  dooced  almighty 
hard ;  and  it  looks  like  there  was  a  big  mis 
take  somewheres,  but  it 's  no  business  of 
mine  to  say  so.  Have  a  cigar  ?  " 

Young  Mr.  Ludovic  had  accepted  a  num 
ber  of  Mr.  Burke's  palliative  offers  of  cigars 
during  their  journey  together ;  he  accepted 
the  courtesy,  but  he  did  not  smoke  the 
cigars.  He  usually  gave  them  to  the  porter. 
He  had  an  expensive  taste  in  cigars,  as  in 
many  other  things.  He  paid  for  his  high- 
priced  preferences,  or  he  went  without.  He 
was  never  willing  to  accept  any  substitute 
for  the  thing  he  really  wanted  ;  and  it  was 
very  hard  for  him,  when  he  had  set  his  heart 
upon  a  thing,  not  to  approach  it  in  the 
attitude  that  an  all-wise  Providence  had 
intended  it  for  him. 

About  dusk  the  snow-plow  engines  from 
above  came  down  for  coal  and  water.  They 


146  ON  A    SIDE-TRACK 

brought  no  positive  word,  only  that  the 
plows  and  shovelers  were  at  work  at  both 
ends  of  the  big  cut,  and  they  hoped  the 
track  would  be  free  by  daybreak.  But  the 
snow  was  still  falling  as  night  set  in. 

Ludovic  and  Phebe  sat  in  the  shadowed 
corner  behind  the  curtains  of  No.  7. 
Phebe' s  father  had  gone  to  bed  early ;  his 
cough  was  worse,  and  Phebe  was  treating 
him  for  that  and  for  the  fever  which  had 
developed  as  an  attendant  symptom.  She 
was  a  devotee  in  her  chosen  school  of  medi 
cine  ;  she  knew  her  remedies,  within  the 
limits  of  her  household  experience,  and  used 
them  with  the  courage  and  constancy  that 
are  of  no  school,  but  which  better  the  wis 
dom  of  them  all. 

Ludovic  observed  that  she  never  lost 
count  of  the  time  through  all  her  talk, 
which  was  growing  more  and  more  absorb 
ing  ;  he  was  jealous  of  the  interruption 
when  she  said,  "  Excuse  me,"  and  looked  at 
her  watch,  or  rose  and  carried  her  tumblers 
of  medicine  alternately  to  the  patient,  and 
woke  him  gently ;  for  it  was  now  a  case 
for  strenuous  treatment,  and  she  purposed 
to  watch  out  the  night,  and  give  the  medi 
cines  regularly  every  hour. 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  147 

Mr.  Burke  was  as  good  as  his  word  ;  he 
kept  several  seats  distant  from  the  young 
people.  He  had  a  private  understanding, 
though,  with  the  car  officials  :  not  that  he 
put  no  faith  in  the  word  of  a  Ludovic,  but 
business  is  business. 

When  he  went  to  his  berth  about  eleven 
o'clock  he  noticed  that  his  prisoner  was  still 
keeping  the  little  Quaker  girl  company,  and 
neither  of  them  seemed  to  be  sleepy.  The 
table  where  they  had  taken  supper  together 
was  still  between  them,  with  Phebe's  watch 
and  the  medicine  tumblers  upon  it.  The 
panel  of  looking-glass  reflected  the  young 
man's  profile,  touched  with  gleams  of  lamp 
light,  as  he  leaned  forward  with  his  arms 
upon  the  table. 

Phebe  sat  far  back  in  her  corner,  pale 
and  grave  ;  but  when  her  eyes  were  lifted 
to  his  face  they  were  as  bright  as  winter 
stars. 

It  was  Ludovic's  intention,  before  he 
parted  with  Phebe,  to  tell  her  his  story  — 
his  own  story;  the  newspaper  account  of 
him  she  would  read,  with  all  the  world,  after 
she  had  reached  Volney.  Meantime  he 
wished  to  lose  himself  in  a  dream  of  how  it 


148  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

might  have  been  could  he  have  met  this 
little  Phebe,  not  on  a  side-track,  his  chance 
already  spoiled,  but  on  the  main  line,  with  a 
long  ticket,  and  the  road  clear  before  them 
to  the  Golden  Gate. 

Under  other  circumstances  she  might  not 
have  had  the  same  overmastering  fascination 
for  him ;  he  did  not  argue  that  question  with 
himself.  He  talked  to  her  all  night  long 
as  a  man  talks  to  the  woman  he  has  chosen 
and  is  free  to  win,  with  but  a  single  day 
in  which  to  win  her ;  and  underneath  his 
impassioned  tones,  shading  and  deepening 
them  with  tragic  meaning,  was  the  truth  he 
was  withholding.  There  was  no  one  to 
stand  between  Phebe  and  this  peril,  and 
how  should  she  know  whither  they  were 
drifting  ? 

He  told  her  stories  of  his  life  of  danger 
and  excitement  and  contrasts,  East  and 
West ;  he  told  her  of  his  work,  his  ambi 
tions,  his  disappointments ;  he  carried  her 
from  city  to  city,  from  camp  to  camp.  He 
spoke  to  sparkling  eyes,  to  fresh,  thrilling 
sympathies,  to  a  warm  heart,  a  large  compre 
hension,  and  a  narrow  experience.  Every 
word  went  home  ;  for  with  this  girl  he  was 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  149 

strangely  sure  of  himself,  as  indeed  he  might 
have  been. 

And  still  the  low  music  of  his  voice  went 
on ;  for  he  did  not  lack  that  charm,  among 
many  others  —  a  voice  for  sustained  and 
moving  speech.  Perhaps  he  did  not  know 
his  own  power;  at  all  events,  he  was  un 
sparing  of  an  influence  the  most  deliberate 
and  enthralling  to  which  the  girl  had  ever 
been  subjected. 

He  was  a  Ludovic  of  that  family  her 
own  had  ever  held  in  highest  consideration. 
He  was  that  Charles  Ludovic  who  had  called 
himself  unhappiest  of  his  name.  Phebe 
never  forgot  this  fact,  and  in  his  pauses, 
and  often  in  his  words,  she  felt  the  tug  of 
that  strong  undertow  of  unspoken  feeling 
pulling  him  back  into  depths  where  even  in 
thought  she  could  not  follow  him. 

And  so  they  sat  face  to  face,  with  the 
watch  between  them  ticking  away  the  fateful 
moments.  For  Ludovic,  life  ended  at  Poca- 
tello,  but  not  for  Phebe.  t 

What  had  he  done  with  that  faith  they 
had  given  him  —  the  gentle,  generous  pair  I 
He  had  resisted,  he  thought  that  he  was 
resisting,  his  mad  attraction  to  this  girl  — 


150  ON  A    SIDE-TRACK 

of  all  girls  the  most  impossible  to  him  now, 
yet  the  one,  his  soul  averred,  most  obviously 
designed  for  him.  His  wild,  sick  fancy  had 
clung  to  her  from  the  moment  her  face  had 
startled  him,  as  he  took  his  last  backward 
look  upon  the  world  he  had  forfeited. 

His  prayer  was  that  he  might  win  from 
Phebe,  before  he  left  her  at  Pocatello,  some 
sure  token  of  her  remembrance  that  he 
might  dwell  upon  and  dream  over  in  the 
years  of  his  buried  life. 

It  would  not  have  been  wonderful,  as  the 
hours  of  that  strange  night,  flew  by,  if  Phebe 
had  lost  a  moment,  now  and  then,  had  some 
times  wandered  from  the  purpose  of  her 
vigil.  Her  thoughts  strayed,  but  they  came 
back  duly,  and  she  was  constant  to  her 
charge.  Through  all  that  unwholesome  en 
chantment  her  hold  upon  herself  was  firm, 
through  her  faithfulness  to  the  simple  duties 
in  which  she  had  been  bred. 

Meanwhile  the  train  lay  still  in  the  dark 
ness,  and  Ludoyic  thanked  God,  shamelessly, 
for  the  snow.  How  the  dream  outwore  the 
night  and  strengthened  as  morning  broke 
gray  and  cold,  and  quiet  with  the  stillness 
of  the  desert,  we  need  not  follow.  More 


ON  A  SIDE-TRACK  151 

and  more  it  possessed  him,  and  began  to 
seem  the  only  truth  that  mattered. 

He  took  to  himself  all  the  privileges  of 
her  protector ;  the  rights,  indeed  —  as  if  he 
could  have  rights  such  as  belong  to  other 
men,  now,  in  regard  to  any  woman. 

If  the  powers  that  are  named  of  good  or 
evil,  according  to  the  will  of  the  wisher,  had 
conspired  to  help  him  on,  the  dream  could 
not  have  drawn  closer  to  the  dearest  facts  of 
life ;  but  no  spells  were  needed  beyond  those 
which  the  reckless  conjurer  himself  possessed 
—  his  youth,  his  implied  misfortunes,  his 
unlikeness  to  any  person  she  had  known,  his 
passion,  "  meek,  but  wild,"  which  he  neither 
spoke  nor  attempted  to  conceal. 

AndPhebe  sat  like  a  charmed  thing  while 
he  wove  the  dream  about  her.  She  could 
not  think ;  she  had  nothing  to  do  while  her 
father  slept ;  she  had  nowhere  to  go,  away 
from  this  new  friend  of  her  father's  choos 
ing.  She  was  exhausted  with  watching,  and 
nervously  unstrung.  Her  hands  were  ice  ; 
her  color  went  and  came ;  her  heart  was  in 
a  wild  alarm.  She  blushed  almost  as  she 
breathed,  with  his  eyes  always  upon  her ; 
and  blushing,  could  have  wept,  but  for  the 


152  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

pride  that  still  was  left  her  in  this  strange, 
unwholesome  excitement. 

It  was  an  ordeal  that  should  have  had  no 
witnesses  but  the  angels ;  yet  it  was  seen  of 
the  porter  and  the  conductor  and  Mr.  Burke. 
The  last  was  not  a  person  finely  cognizant 
of  situations  like  this  one;  but  he  felt  it 
and  resented  it  in  every  fibre  of  his  honest 
manhood. 

"  What 's  Ludovic  doing  ?  "  he  asked  him 
self  in  heated  soliloquy.  "  He  's  out  of  the 
running,  and  the  old  man  's  sick  abed,  and 
no  better  than  an  old  woman  when  he  's  well. 
What 's  the  fellow  thinking  of  ?  " 

Mr.  Burke  took  occasion  to  ask  him,  when 
they  were  alone  together  —  Ludovic  putting 
the  finishing  touches  to  a  shave  ;  the  time 
was  not  the  happiest,  but  the  words  were 
honest  and  to  the  point. 

"  I  did  n't  understand,"  said  Mr.  Burke, 
"  that  the  little  girl  was  in  it.  Now,  do  you 
call  it  quite  on  the  square,  Mr.  Ludovic,  be 
tween  you  and  her  ?  I  don't  like  it,  my 
self  ;  I  don't  want  to  be  a  party  to  it.  I  've 
got  girls  of  my  own." 

Ludovic  held  his  chin  up  high ;  his  hands 
shook  as  he  worked  at  his  collar-button. 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  153 

"  Have  you  got  any  boys  ?  "  he  flung  out 
in  the  tone  of  a  retort. 

"  Yes  ;  one  about  your  age,  I  should 
guess." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  see  him  in  the 
fix  I'm  in?" 

"  I  could  n't  suppose  it,  Mr.  Ludovic. 
My  boy  and  you  ain't  one  bit  alike." 

"  Are  your  girls  like  her  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  they  are  not.  I  ain't  worrying 
about  them  any,  nor  would  n't  if  they  was 
hi  her  place.  But  there 's  points  about  this 
thing  "- 

"We'll  leave  the  points.  Suppose,  I 
say,  your  boy  was  in  my  fix :  would  you 
grudge  him  any  little  kindness  he  might  be 
able  to  cheat  heaven,  we  '11  say,  out  of  be 
tween  here  and  Pocatello  ?  " 

"  Heaven  can  take  care  of  itself ;  that 
little  girl  is  not  in  heaven  yet.  And  there 's 
kindnesses  and  kindnesses,  Mr.  Ludovic. 
There  are  some  that  cost  like  the  mischief. 
I  expect  you  're  willing  to  bid  high  on  kind 
ness  from  a  nice  girl,  about  now ;  but  how 
•about  her  ?  Has  kindness  gone  up  in  her 
market  ?  I  guess  not.  That  little  creetur's 
goods  can  wait ;  she  'd  be  on  top  in  any  mar- 


154  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

ket.  I  guess  it  ain't  quite  a  square  deal  be 
tween  her  and  you." 

Ludovic  sat  down,  and  buried  his  hands 
in  his  pockets.  His  face  was  a  dark  red  ; 
his  lips  twitched. 

"  Are  you  going  to  stick  to  your  bargain, 
or  are  you  not  ?  "  he  asked,  fixing  his  eyes 
on  a  spot  just  above  Mr.  Burke's  head. 

"  You  've  got  the  cheek  to  call  it  a  bar 
gain  !  But  say  it  was  a  bargain.  I  did  n't 
know,  I  say,  that  the  little  girl  was  in  it. 
Your  bank's  broke,  Mr.  Ludovic.  You 
ought  to  quit  business.  You  've  got  no  right 
to  keep  your  doors  open,  taking  in  money 
like  hers,  clean  gold  fresh  from  the  mint." 

"  O  Lord  !  "  murmured  Ludovic  ;  and  he 
may  have  added  a  prayer  for  patience  with 
this  common  man  who  was  so  pitilessly  in 
the  right.  A  week  ago,  and  the  right  had 
been  easy  to  him.  But  now  he  was  off  the 
track ;  every  turn  of  the  wheels  tore  some 
thing  to  pieces. 

"There  are  just  two  subjects  I  cannot 
discuss  with  you,"  he  said,  sinking  his  voice. 
"  One  is  that  young  lady.  Her  father  knows* 
my  people.  She  shall  know  me  before  I 
leave  her.  They  say  we  shall  go  through  to- 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  155 

night.  You  must  think  I  am  the  devil  if  you 
think  that,  without  the  right  even  to  dis 
pense  with  your  company,  I  can  have  much 
to  answer  for  between  here  and  Pocatello." 

"  You  are  as  selfish  as  the  devil,  that 's 
what  I  think;  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  you 
look  as  white  as  other  folks." 

"  Then  leave  me  alone,  or  else  put  the 
irons  on  me.  Do  one  thing  or  the  other.  I 
won't  be  dogged  and  watched  and  hammered 
with  your  infernal  jaw !  You  can  put  a  ball 
through  me,  you  can  handcuff  me  before  her 
face;  but  my  eyes  are  my  own,  and  my 
tongue  is  my  own,  and  I  will  use  them  as  I 
please." 

Mr.  Burke  said  no  more.  He  had  said  a 
good  deal ;  he  had  covered  the  ground,  he 
thought.  And  possibly  he  had  some  sym 
pathy,  even  when  he  thought  of  his  girls, 
with  the  young  fellow  who  had  looked  too 
late  in  the  face  of  joy  and  gone  clean  wild 
over  his  mischance. 

It  was  his  opinion  that  Ludovic  would 
"  get "  not  less  than  twenty-five  years. 
There'  were  likely  to  be  Populists  on  that 
jury ;  the  prisoner's  friends  belonged  to  a 
clique  of  big  monopolists ;  it  would  go  harder 


156  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

with  him  than  if  he  had  been  an  honest 
miner,  or  a  playful  cow-boy  on  one  of  his 
monthly  "  tears." 

When  Ludovic  returned  to  his  section, 
Phebe  had  gone  to  sleep  in  the  corner  oppo 
site,  her  muff  tucked  under  one  flushed 
cheek ;  the  other  cheek  was  pale.  Shadows 
as  delicate  as  the  tinted  reflections  in  the 
hollow  of  a  snow-drift  slept  beneath  her  chin, 
and  in  the  curves  around  her  pathetic  eye 
lids,  and  in  the  small  incision  that  defined 
her  pure  red  under  lip.  Again  the  angels, 
whom  we  used  to  believe  in,  were  far  from 
this  their  child. 

Ludovic  drew  down  all  the  blinds  to  keep 
out  the  glare,  and  sat  in  his  own  place,  and 
watched  her,  and  fed  his  aching  dream.  He 
did  not  care  what  he  did,  nor  who  saw  him, 
nor  what  anybody  thought. 

In  the  afternoon  he  took  her  out  for  a 
walk.  The  snow  had  stopped ;  her  father 
was  up  and  dressed,  and  very  much  better, 
and  Phebe  was  radiant.  Her  sky  was  clear 
ing  all  at  once.  She  charged  the  porter  to 
call  her  in  "  just  twenty  minutes,"  for  then 
she  must  give  the  medicine  again.  On  their 
way  out  of  the  car  Ludovic  slipped  a  dollar 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  157 

into  the  porter's  hand.  Somehow  that  clever 
but  corrupted  functionary  let  the  time  slip 
by,  to  Phebe's  innocent  amazement.  Could 
he  have  gone  to  sleep  ?  Surely  it  must  be 
more  than  twenty  minutes  since  they  had 
left  the  car. 

"  He  's  probably  given  the  dose  himself," 
said  Ludovic.  "  A  good  porter  is  always 
three  parts  nurse." 

"  But  he  does  n't  know  which  medicine  to 
give." 

"  Oh,  let  them  be,"  he  said  impatiently. 
"  He  's  talking  to  your  father,  and  making 
him  laugh.  He  '11  brace  him  up  better 
than  any  medicine.  They  will  call  you  fast 
enough  if  you  are  needed." 

They  walked  the  platform  up  and  down 
in  front  of  the  section-house.  They  were 
watched,  but  Ludovic  did  not  care  for  that 
now. 

"  Will  you  take  my  arm  ?  " 

She  hesitated,  in  amused  consideration  of 
her  own  inexperience. 

"  Why,  I  never  did  take  any  one's  arm 
that  I  remember.  I  don't  think  I  could  keep 
step  with  thee." 

The  intimate  pronoun  slipped  out  un 
awares. 


158  ON  A  SIDE-TRACK 

"  I  will  keep  step  with  thee." 

"  I  don't  kaow  that  I  quite  like  to  hear 
you  use  that  word." 

"  But  you  used  it,  just  now,  to  me." 

"  It  was  an  accident,  then." 

"  Your  father  says  '  thee  '  to  me." 

"  He  is  of  an  older  generation  ;  my  mo 
ther  wore  the  Friends'  dress.  But  those 
customs  had  a  religious  meaning  for  them 
to  which  I  cannot  pretend.  With  me  it  is 
a  sort  of  instinct ;  I  can't  explain  it,  nor 
yet  quite  ignore  it." 

"  Have  I  off  ended  that  particular  instinct 
of  yours  which  attaches  to  the  word  '  thee '  ?  " 

He  seemed  deeply  chagrined.  He  was 
one  who  did  not  like  to  make  mistakes,  and 
he  had  no  time  to  waste  in  apologizing  and 
recovering  lost  ground. 

"  People  do  say  it  to  us  sometimes  in  fun, 
not  knowing  what  the  word  means  to  us," 
said  Phebe. 

In  the  fresh  winter  air  she  was  regaining 
her  tone  —  escaping  from  him,  Ludovic  felt, 
into  her  own  sweet,  calm  self-possession. 

"  Then  you  distinctly  refuse  me  whatever 
—  the  least  —  that  word  implies  ?  I  am 
one  of  those  who  '  rush  in  '  ?  " 


ON  A  SIDE-TRACK  159 

"  Oh,  no  ;  but  you  are  much  too  serious. 
It  is  partly  a  habit  of  speech;  we  cannot 
lose  the  habit  of  speaking  to  each  other  as 
strangers  in  three  days." 

"  You  were  never  a  stranger  to  me.  I 
knew  you  from  the  first  moment  I  saw  you  ; 
yet  each  moment  since  you  have  been  a  fresh 
surprise." 

"  I  cannot  keep  up  with  you,"  she  said, 
slipping  her  hand  out  of  his  arm.  In  the 
grasp  of  his  passionate  dream  he  was  strid 
ing  along  regardless,  not  of  her,  but  of  her 
steps. 

"  Oh,  little  steps,"  he  groaned  within 
himself  —  "  oh,  little  doubting  steps,  why 
did  we  not  meet  before  ?  " 

Oh,  blessed  hampering  steps,  how  much 
safer  would  his  have  gone  beside  them  ! 

"  What  a  charming  pair !  "  cried  a  lady 
passenger  from  the  forward  sleeper.  She 
too  was  walking,  with  her  husband,  and  her 
eye  had  been  instantly  taken  by  the  gentle 
girl  with  the  delicate  wild-rose  color,  halting 
on  the  arm  of  a  splendid  youth  with  dare 
devil  eyes,  who  did  not  look  as  happy  as  he 
ought  with  that  sweet  creature  on  his  arm. 

"  Is  n't  it  good  to  know  that  the  old  sto- 


160  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

ries  are  going  on  all  the  same?"  said  the 
sentimental  traveler.     "  What  do  you  say  — 
will  that  story  end  in  happiness  ?  " 

"  I  say  that  he  is  n't  good  enough  for 
her,"  the  husband  replied. 

"  Then  he  '11  be  sure  to  win  her,"  laughed 
the  lady.  "  He  has  won  her,  I  believe," 
she  added  more  seriously,  watching  the  pair 
where  they  stood  together  at  the  far  end  of 
the  platform ;  "  but  something  is  wrong." 

"  Something  usually  is  at  that  stage,  if  I 
remember.  Come,  let  us  get  aboard." 

The  sun  was  setting  clear  in  the  pale 
saffron  west.  The  train  from  the  buried 
cut  had  been  released,  and  now  came  sliding 
down  the  track,  welcomed  by  boisterous  sal 
utations.  Behind  were  the  mighty  snow- 
plow  engines,  backing  down,  enwreathed 
and  garlanded  with  snow. 

"  A-a-all  aboard !  "  the  conductor  drawled 
in  a  colloquial  tone  to  the  small  waiting 
group  upon  the  platform. 

Slowly  they  crept  back  upon  the  main 
track,  and  heavily  the  motion  increased,  till 
the  old  chant  of  the  rails  began  again,  and 
they  were  thundering  westward  down  the 
line. 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  161 

III 

Phebe  was  much  occupied  with  her  fa 
ther,  perhaps  purposely  so,  until  his  bed 
time.  She  made  him  her  innocent  refuge. 

O 

Ludovic  kept  subtly  away,  lest  the  friendly 
old  gentleman  should  be  led  into  conversa 
tion,  which  might  delay  the  hour  of  his  retir 
ing.  He  went  cheerfully  to  rest  about  the 
time  the  lamps  were  lighted,  and  Phebe 
sought  once  more  her  corner  hi  the  empty 
section,  shaded  by  her  father's  curtains. 

Ludovic,  dropping  his  voice  below  the  roar 
of  the  train,  asked  if  he  might  take  the  seat 
beside  her. 

He  took  it,  and  turned  his  back  upon  the 
car.  He  looked  at  his  watch.  He  had  just 
three  hours  before  Pocatello.  The  train 
was  making  great  speed ;  they  would  get  in, 
the  conductor  said,  by  eleven  o'clock.  But 
he  need  not  tell  her  yet.  Half  an  hour 
passed,  and  his  thoughts  in  the  silence  were 
no  longer  to  be  borne. 

She  was  aware  of  his  intense  excite 
ment,  his  restlessness,  the  nervous  action  of 
his  hands.  She  shrank  from  the  burning 
misery  in  his  questioning  eyes.  Once  she 


162  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

heard  him  whisper  under  his  breath;  but 
the  words  she  heard  were,  "My  love!  my 
love  !  "  and  she  thought  she  could  not  have 
heard  aright.  Her  trouble  increased  with 
her  sense  of  some  involuntary  strangeness 
in  her  companion,  some  recklessness  impend 
ing  which  she  might  not  know  how  to  meet. 
She  rose  in  her  place,  and  said  tremulously 
that  she  must  go. 

"  Go  !  "  He  sprang  up.  "  Go  where,  in 
Heaven's  name  ?  Stay,"  he  implored,  "  and 
be  kind  to  me  !  We  get  off  at  Pocatello." 

"  We  ?  "  she  asked  with  her  eyes  in  his. 

"  That  man  and  I.     I  am  his  prisoner." 

She  sank  down  again,  and  stared  at  him 
mutely. 

"  He  is  the  sheriff  of  Bingham  County, 
and  I  am  his  prisoner,"  he  repeated.  "  Do 
the  words  mean  nothing  to  you  ? "  He 
paused  for  some  sign  that  she  understood 
him.  She  dropped  her  eyes ;  her  face  had 
become  as  white  as  a  snowdrop. 

"  He  is  taking  me  to  Pocatello  for  the 
preliminary  examination  —  oh,  must  I  tell 
you  this  ?  If  I  thought  you  would  never  read 
it  in  the  ghastly  type  " 

"  Go  on,"  she  whispered. 


ON  A  SIDE-TRACK  163 

"Examination,"  he  choked,  "for  —  for 
homicide.  I  don't  know  what  the  judge 
will  call  it ;  but  the  other  man  is  dead,  and 
I  am  left  to  answer  for  the  passion  of  a 
moment  with  my  life.  And  you  will  not 
speak  to  me  ?  " 

But  now  she  did  speak.  Leaning  for 
ward  so  that  she  could  look  him  in  the  eyes, 
she  said :  — 

"  I  thought  when  I  saw  that  man  always 
with  you,  watching  you,  that  he  might  be 
taking  you,  with  your  consent,  to  one  of 
those  places  where  they  treat  persons  for  — 
for  unsoundness  of  the  mind.  I  knew  you 
had  some  trouble  that  was  beyond  help.  I 
could  think  of  nothing  worse  than  that.  It 
haunted  me  till  we  began  to  speak  together ; 
then  I  knew  it  could  not  be  ;  now  I  wish  it 
had  been." 

"I  do  not,"  said  Ludovic.  "I  thank 
God  I  am  not  mad.  There  is  passion  in  my 
blood,  and  folly,  perhaps,  but  not  insanity. 
No ;  I  am  responsible." 

She  remained  silent,  and  he  continued 
defensively :  — 

"  But  I  am  not  the  only  one  responsible. 
Can  you  listen  ?  Can  you  hear  the  particu- 


164  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

lars  ?  One  always  feels  that  one's  own  case 
is  peculiar ;  one  is  never  the  common  sin 
ner,  you  know. 

"  I  have  a  friend  at  Pocatello  ;  he  is  my 
partner  in  business.  Two  years  ago  he 
married  a  New  York  girl,  and  brought  her 
out  there  to  live.  If  you  knew  Pocatello, 
you  would  know  what  a  privilege  it  was  to 
have  their  house  to  go  to.  They  made  me 
free  of  it,  as  people  do  in  the  West.  There 
is  nothing  they  could  not  have  asked  of  me 
in  return  for  such  hospitality ;  it  was  an 
obligation  not  less  sacred  on  my  part  than 
that  of  family. 

"  When  my  friend  went  away  on  long 
journeys,  on  our  common  business,  it  was 
my  place  in  his  absence  to  care  for  all  that 
was  his.  There  are  many  little  things  a 
woman  needs  a  man  to  do  for  her  in  a  place 
like  Pocatello  ;  it  was  my  pride  and  privi 
lege  to  be  at  all  times  at  the  service  of  this 
lady.  She  was  needlessly  grateful,  but  she 
liked  me  besides :  she  was  one  who  showed 
her  likes  and  dislikes  frankly.  She  had 
grown  up  in  a  small,  exclusive  set  of  per 
sons  who  knew  one  another's  grandfathers, 
and  were  accustomed  to  say  what  they 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  165 

pleased  inside;  what  outsiders  thought  did 
not  matter.  She  had  not  learned  to  be 
careful;  she  despised  the  need  of  it.  She 
thought  Pocatello  and  the  people  there  were 
a  joke.  But  there  is  a  serious  side  even 
to  Pocatello :  you  cannot  joke  with  rattle 
snakes  and  vitriol  and  slow  mines.  She 
made  enemies  by  her  gay  little  sallies,  and 
she  would  never  condescend  to  explain. 
When  people  said  things  that  showed  they 
had  interpreted  her  words  or  actions  in  a 
stupid  or  a  vulgar  way,  she  gave  the  thing 
up.  It  was  not  her  business  to  adapt  her 
self  to  such  people ;  it  was  theirs  to  under 
stand  her.  If  they  could  not,  then  it  did 
not  matter  what  they  thought.  That  was 
her  theory  of  life  in  Pocatello. 

"  One  night  I  was  in  a  place  —  not  for 
my  pleasure  —  a  place  where  a  lady's  name 
is  never  spoken  by  a  gentleman.  I  heard 
her  name  spoken  by  a  fool ;  he  coupled  it 
with  mine,  and  laughed.  I  walked  out  of 
the  place,  and  forgot  what  I  was  there  for 
till  I  found  myself  down  the  street  with  my 
heart  jumping.  That  time  I  did  right,  you 
would  say. 

"  But  I  met  him  again.      It  was  at  the 


166  ON  A  SIDE-TRACK 

depot  at  Pocatello.  I  was  seeing  a  man  off 
—  a  stranger  in  the  place,  but  a  friend  of 
my  friends ;  we  had  dined  at  their  house 
together.  This  other  —  I  think  he  had 
been  drinking  —  I  suppose  he  must  have 
included  me  in  his  stupid  spite  against  the 
lady.  He  made  his  fool  speech  again.  The 
man  who  was  with  me  heard  him,  and 
looked  astounded.  I  stepped  up  to  him.  I 
said  —  I  don't  know  what.  I  ordered  him 
to  leave  that  name  alone.  He  repeated  it, 
and  I  struck  him.  He  pulled  a  pistol  on 
me.  I  grabbed  him,  and  twisted  it  out  of 
his  hand.  How  it  happened  I  cannot  tell, 
but  there  in  the  smoke  he  lay  at  my  feet. 
The  train  was  moving  out.  My  friend 
pulled  me  aboard.  The  papers  said  I  ran 
away.  I  did  not.  I  waited  at  Omaha  for 
Mr.  Burke. 

"  And  there  I  met  you,  three  days  ago  ; 
and  all  I  care  for  now  is  just  to  know  that 
you  will  not  think  of  me  always  by  that 
word." 

"  What  word  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  ;  spare  me  the  word.  Look 
at  me !  Do  I  seem  to  you  at  all  the  same 
man  ?  " 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  167 

Phebe  slowly  lifted  her  eyes. 

"  Is  there  nothing  left  of  me  ?  Answer 
me  the  truth.  I  have  a  right  to  be  an 
swered." 

"  You  are  the  same ;  but  all  the  rest  of  it 
is  strange.  I  do  not  see  how  such  a  thing 
could  be." 

"  Can  you  not  conceive  of  one  wild  act  in 
a  man  not  inevitably  always  a  sinner  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  but  not  that  act.  I  cannot 
understand  the  impulse  to  take  a  life." 

"  I  did  not  think  of  his  miserable  life ;  I 
only  meant  to  stop  his  talking.  He  tried  to 
take  mine.  I  wish  he  had.  But  no,  no  ;  I 
should  have  missed  this  glimpse  of  you. 
Just  when  it  is  too  late  I  learn  what  life  is 
worth." 

"Do  men  truly  do  those  things  for  the 
sake  of  women?  Were  you  thinking  of 
your  friend's  wife  when  you  struck  him  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  man  —  what  a 
foul-mouthed  fool  he  was  —  not  fit  to  "  — 
He  stopped,  seeing  the  look  on  Phebe's 
face. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  impossible,  I  know,  to  one  like 
you !  It 's  rather  hard  I  should  have  to  be 
compared,  in  your  mind,  to  a  race  cf  men 


168  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

like  your  father.  Have  you  never  known 
any  other  men  ?  " 

"  I  have  read  of  all  the  men  other  people 
read  of.  I  have  some  imagination." 

"  I  suppose  you  read  your  Bible." 

"  Yes :  the  men  in  the  Bible  were  not  all 
of  the  Spirit ;  but  they  worshiped  the  Spirit 
—  they  were  humble  when  they  did  wrong." 

"  Did  women  ever  love  them  ?  " 

Phebe  was  silent. 

"  Do  not  talk  to  me  of  the  Spirit,"  Ludo- 
vic  pleaded.  "  I  am  a  long  way  from  that. 
At  least  I  am  not  a  hypocrite  —  not  yet. 
Wait  till  I  am  a  '  trusty,'  scheming  for  a 
pardon.  Can  you  not  give  me  one  word  of 
simple  human  comfort  ?  There  are  just 
forty  minutes  more." 

"  What  can  I  say  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  this  —  and  oh,  be  careful  ! 
Could  you,  if  it  were  permitted  a  criminal 
like  me  to  expiate  his  sin  in  the  world 
among  living  men,  in  human  relations  with 
them  —  could  we  ever  meet  ?  Could  you 
say  '  thee '  to  me,  not  as  to  an  afflicted  per 
son  or  a  child  ?  Am  I  to  be  only  a  text, 
another  instance  "  — 

"  Many  would  not   blame  you.     Neither 


OF  A   SIDE-TRACK  169 

do  I  blame  you,  not  knowing  that  life  or 
those  people,"  said  Phebe.  "But  there  was 
One  who  turned  away  from  the  evil-speakers, 
and  wrote  upon  the  sand." 

"  But  those  evil  -  speakers  spoke  the 
truth." 

"  Can  a  lie  be  stopped  by  a  pistol-shot  ? 
But  we  need  not  argue." 

"  No  ;  I  see  how  it  is.  I  shall  be  to  you 
only  another  of  the  wretched  sons  of  Cain." 

"  I  am  thy  sister,"  she  said,  and  gave 
him  her  hand. 

He  held  it  in  his  strong,  cold,  trembling 
clasp. 

"  Darling,  do  you  know  where  I  am 
going  ?  I  shall  never  see  you,  never  again 
—  unless  you  are  like  the  sainted  women 
of  your  faith  who  walked  the  prisons,  and 
preached  to  them  in  bonds." 

"  Thy  bonds  are  mine :  but  I  am  no 
preacher." 

The  drowsy  lights  swayed  and  twinkled, 
the  wheels  rang  on  the  frozen  rails  as  the 
wild,  white  wastes  flew  by. 

"  Father  shall  never  know  it,"  Phebe 
murmured.  "  He  shall  never  know,  if  I  can 
help  it,  why  you  called  yourself  unhappy." 


170  ON  A  SIDE-TRACK 

"Is  it  such  an  unspeakable  horror  to 
you  ?  "  He  winced. 

"  He  has  not  many  years  to  live  ;  it 
would  only  be  one  disappointment  more." 
She  was  leaning  back  in  her  seat ;  her  eyes 
were  closed;  she  looked  dead  weary,  but 
patient,  as  if  this  too  were  life,  and  not 
more  than  her  share. 

"  Has  your  father  any  money,  dear?" 

She  smiled :  "  Do  we  look  like  people 
with  money  ?  " 

"  If  they  would  only  let  me  have  my 
hands  !  "  he  groaned.  "  To  think  of  shut 
ting  up  a  great  strong  fellow  like  me  " 

It  was  useless  to  go  on.  He  sat,  bitterly 
forecasting  the  fortunes  of  those  two  lambs 
who  had  strayed  so  far  from  the  green  pas 
tures  and  still  waters,  when  he  heard  Phebe 
say  softly,  as  if  to  herself,  — 

"  We  are  almost  there." 

Mr.  Burke  began  to  fold  his  newspapers 
and    get    his    bags    in    order.       His   hands 
rested  upon  the  implements  of  his  office  — 
he  carried   them  always  in  his  pockets  — 
while  he  stood  balancing  himself  in  the  rock 
ing  car,  and  the  porter  dusted  his  hat  and 
coat. 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  171 

The  train  dashed  past  the  first  scattered 
lights  of  the  town. 

"  Po-catello  !  "  the  brakeman  roared  in  a 
voice  of  triumph,  for  they  were  "  in  "  at  last. 

The  porter  came,  and  touched  Ludovic 
on  the  shoulder. 

"  Gen'leman  says  he 's  ready,  sir." 

He  rose  and  bent  over  Phebe.  If  she  had 
been  like  any  other  girl  he  must  have  kissed 
her,  but  he  dared  not.  He  had  prayed  for 
a  sign,  and  he  had  won  it  —  that  look  of 
dumb  and  lasting  anguish  in  her  childlike 
eyes. 

Yet,  strange  passion  of  the  man's  nature, 
he  was  not  sorry  for  what  he  had  done. 

Mr.  Burke  took  his  arm  in  silence,  and 
steered  him  out  of  the  car  ;  both  doors  were 
guarded,  for  he  had  feared  there  might  be 
trouble.  He  was  surprised  at  Ludovic's 
behavior. 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?"  the 
car-conductor  asked,  looking  after  the  pair 
as  they  walked  up  the  platform  together. 
"Is  he  sick?" 

"  Mashed,"  said  the  porter,  gloomily ;  for 
Ludovic  had  forgotten  the  parting  fee. 
"  Regular  girl  mash,  the  worst  I  ever  saw." 


172  ON  A   SIDE-TRACK 

"  He 's  late  about  it,  if  he  expects  to 
have  any  fun,"  said  the  conductor ;  and  he 
began  to  dance,  with  his  hands  in  his  great 
coat  pockets,  for  the  night  air  was  raw. 
He  was  at  the  end  of  his  run,  and  was  going 
home  to  his  own  girl,  whom  he  had  married 
the  week  before. 

Friends  and  family  influence  mustered 
strong  for  Ludovic  at  the  trial  six  weeks 
later.  His  lawyer's  speech  was  the  finest 
effort,  it  was  said,  ever  listened  to  by  an 
Idaho  jury.  The  ladies  went  to  hear  it, 
and  to  look  at  the  handsome  prisoner,  who 
seemed  to  grow  visibly  old  as  the  days  of  the 
trial  went  by. 

But  those  who  are  acquainted  with  the 
average  Western  jury  need  not  be  told  that 
it  was  not  influence  that  did  it,  nor  the 
lawyer's  eloquence,  nor  the  court's  fine-spun 
legal  definitions,  nor  even  the  women's  tears. 
They  looked  at  the  boy,  and  thought  of  their 
own  boys,  or  they  looked  inside,  and  thought 
of  themselves ;  and  they  concluded  that  soci 
ety  might  take  its  chances  with  that  young 
man  at  large.  They  stayed  out  an  hour,  out 
of  respect  to  their  oath,  and  then  brought  in 


ON  A   SIDE-TRACK  173 

a  verdict  of  "  Not  guilty ; "  and  the  audience 
had  to  be  suppressed. 

But  after  the  jury's  verdict  there  is  so 
ciety,  and  all  the  tongues  that  will  talk,  long 
after  the  tears  are  dry.  And  then  conies 
God  in  the  silence  —  and  Phebe. 

The  men  all  say  she  is  too  good  for  him, 
whose  name  has  been  in  everybody's  mouth. 
They  say  it,  even  though  they  do  not  know 
the  cruel  way  hi  which  he  won  her  love. 
But  the  women  say  that  Phebe,  though  un 
deniably  a  saint  (and  the  "  sweetest  thing 
that  ever  lived"),  is  yet  a  woman,  incapable 
of  inflicting  judgment  upon  the  man  she 
loves. 

The  case  is  in  her  hands  now.  She  may 
punish,  she  may  avenge,  if  she  will;  for 
Ludovic  is  the  slave  of  his  own  remorseless* 
conquest.  But  Phebe  has  never  discovered 
that  she  was  wronged.  There  is  something 
in  faith,  after  all ;  and  there  is  a  good  deal 
in  blood,  Friend  Underbill  thinks.  "  Doubt 
less  the  grandson  of  Martin  Ludovic  must 
have  had  great  provocation." 


THE  TRUMPETER 


WHEN  the  trumpets  at  Bisuka  barracks 
sound  retreat,  the  girls  in  the  Meadows  cot 
tage,  on  the  edge  of  the  Reservation,  begin 
to  hurry  with  the  supper  things,  and  Mrs. 
Meadows,  who  has  been  young  herself,  says 
to  her  eldest  daughter,  "  You  go  now, 
Gallic ;  the  girls  and  I  can  finish."  Which 
means  that  Callie's  colors  go  up  as  the  colors 
on  the  hill  come  down  ;  for  soon  the  tidy 
infantrymen  and  the  troopers  with  their 
yellow  stripes  will  be  seen,  in  the  first  blush 
of  the  afterglow,  tramping  along  the  paths 
that  thread  the  sagebrush  common  between 
the  barracks  and  the  town ;  and  Callie's 
young  man  will  be  among  them,  and  he  will 
turn  off  at  the  bridge  that  crosses  the  ace- 
quia,  and  make  for  the  cottage  gate  by  a 
path  which  he  ought  to  know  pretty  well  by 
this  time. 

Callie's  young  man  is  Henniker,  one  of 


THE   TRUMPETER  175 

the  trumpeters  of  K  troop,  — th  cavalry; 
the  trumpeter,  Callie  would  say,  for  though 
there  are  two  of  the  infantry  and  two  of  the 
cavalry  who  stand  forth  at  sunset,  in  front 
of  the  adjutant's  office,  and  blow  as  one  man 
the  brazen  call  that  throbs  against  the  hill, 
it  is  only  Henniker  whom  Callie  hears.  That 
trumpet  blare,  most  masculine  of  all  musical 
utterances,  goes  straight  from  his  big  blue- 
clad  chest  to  the  heart  of  his  girl,  across 
the  clear-lit  evening ;  but  not  to  hers  alone. 
There  is  only  one  Henniker,  but  there  is 
more  than  one  girl  in  the  cottage  on  the 
common. 

At  this  hour,  nightly,  a  small  dark  head, 
not  so  high  above  the  sage  as  Callie's 
auburn  one,  pursues  its  dreaming  way,  in  the 
wake  of  two  cows  and  a  half-grown  heifer, 
towards  the  hills  where  the  town  herd 
pastures.  Punctually  at  the  first  call  it 
starts  out  behind  the  cows  from  the  home 
corral;  by  the  second  it  has  passed,  very 
slowly,  the  foot-bridge,  and  is  nearly  to  the 
corner  post  of  the  Reservation;  but  when 
"  sound  off  "  is  heard,  the  slow-moving  head 
stops  still.  The  cheek  turns.  A  listening 
eye  is  raised ;  it  is  black,  heavily  lashed ; 


176  THE   TRUMPETER 

the  tip  of  a  silken  eyebrow  shows  against 
the  narrow  temple.  The  cheek  is  round 
and  young,  of  a  smooth  clear  brown,  richly 
under-tinted  with  rose,  —  a  native  wild 
flower  of  the  Northwest.  As  the  trumpets 
cease,  and  the  gun  fires,  and  the  brief  echo 
dies  in  the  hill,  the  liquid  eyes  grow  sad. 

"  Sweet,  sweet !  too  sweet  to  be  so  short 
and  so  strong !  "  The  dumb  childish  heart 
swells  in  the  constriction  of  a'  new  and 
keener  sense  of  joy,  an  unspeakable  new 
longing. 

What  that  note  of  the  deep-colored  sum 
mer  twilight  means  to  her  she  hardly  under 
stands.  It  awakens  no  thought  of  expecta 
tion  for  herself,  no  definite  desire.  She  knows 
that  the  trumpeter's  sunset  call  is  his  good- 
by  to  duty  on  the  eve  of  joy ;  it  is  the  paean 
of  his  love  for  Callie.  Wonderful  to  be  like 
Callie ;  who  after  all  is  just  like  any  other 
girl,  —  like  herself,  just  as  she  was  a  year 
ago,  before  she  had  ever  spoken  to  Hen- 
niker. 

Henniker  was  not  only  a  trumpeter,  one 
of  four  who  made  music  for  the  small  two- 
company  garrison  ;  he  was  an  artist  with  a 
personality.  The  others  blew  according  to 


THE   TRUMPETER  177 

tactics,  and  sometimes  made  mistakes ;  Hen- 
iiiker  never  made  mistakes,  except  that  he 
sometimes  blew  too  well.  Nobody  with  an 
ear,  listening  nightly  for  taps,  could  mistake 
when  it  was  Henniker's  turn,  as  orderly 
trumpeter,  to  sound  the  calls.  He  had  the 
temperament  of  the  joyous  art :  and  with 
it  the  vanity,  the  passion,  the  forgetfulness, 
the  unconscious  cruelty,  the  love  of  beauty, 
and  the  love  of  being  loved  that  made  him 
the  flirt  constitutional  as  well  as  the  flirt 
military,  —  which  not  all  soldiers  are,  but 
which  all  soldiers  are  accused  of  being.  He 
flirted  not  only  with  his  fine  gait  and  figure, 
and  bold  roving  glances  from  under  his  cap- 
peak  with  the  gold  sabres  crossed  above  it ; 
he  flirted  in  a  particular  and  personal  as 
well  as  promiscuous  manner,  and  was  ever 
new  to  the  dangers  he  incurred,  not  to 
mention  those  to  which  his  willing  victims 
exposed  themselves.  For  up  to  this  time  in 
all  his  life  Henniker  had  never  yet  pursued 
a  girl.  There  had  been  no  need,  and  as 
yet  no  inducement,  for  him  to  take  the 
offensive.  The  girls  all  felt  his  irresponsi 
ble  gift  of  pleasing,  and  forgot  to  be  afraid. 
Not  one  of  the  class  of  girls  he  met  but 


178  THE   TRUMPETER 

envied  Callie  Meadows,  and  showed  it  by 
pretending  to  wonder  what  he  could  see  in 
her. 

It  was  himself  Henniker  saw,  so  no  won 
der  he  was  satisfied,  until  he  should  see  him 
self  in  a  more  flattering  mirror  still.  The 
very  first  night  he  met  her,  Callie  had  in 
formed  him,  with  the  courage  of  her  bright 
eyes,  that  she  thought  him  magnificent  fun  ; 
and  he  had  laughed  in  his  heart,  and  said, 
"  Go  ahead,  my  dear  ! "  And  ahead  they 
went  headlong,  and  were  engaged  within  a 
week. 

Mother  Meadows  did  not  like  it  much, 
but  it  was  the  youthful  way,  in  pastoral 
frontier  circles  like  their  own ;  and  Callie 
would  do  as  she  pleased,  —  that  was  Callie' s 
way.  Father  Meadows  said  it  was  the  wo 
men's  business  ;  if  Callie  and  her  mother 
were  satisfied,  so  was  he. 

But  he  made  inquiries  at  the  post,  and 
learned  that  Henniker's  record  was  good  hi 
a  military  sense.  He  stood  well  with  his 
officers,  had  no  loose,  unsoldierly  habits,  and 
never  was  drunk  on  duty.  He  did  not  save 
his  pay ;  but  how  much  "pay  "  had  Meadows 
ever  saved  when  he  was  a  single  man? 


THE   TRUMPETER  179 

And  within  two  years,  if  he  wanted  it,  the 
trumpeter  was  entitled  to  his  discharge.  So 
he  prospered  in  this  as  in  former  love 
affairs  that  had  stopped  short  of  the  conclu 
sive  step  of  marriage. 

Meta,  the  little  cow-girl,  the  youngest  and 
fairest,  though  many  shades  the  darkest,  of 
the  Meadows  household,  was  not  of  the 
Meadows  blood.  On  her  father's  side,  her 
ancestry,  doubtless,  was  uncertain ;  some 
said  carelessly,  "  Canada  French."  Her 
mother  was  pure  squaw  of  the  Bannock 
breed.  But  Mother  Meadows,  whose  warm 
Scotch-Irish  heart  nourished  a  vein  of  ro 
mance  together  with  a  feudal  love  of  family, 
upheld  that  Meta  was  no  chance  slip  of  the 
murky  half-bloods,  neither  clean  wild  nor 
clean  tame.  Her  father,  she  claimed  to 
know,  had  been  a  man  of  education  and  of 
honor,  on  the  white  side  of  his  life,  a  well 
born  Scottish  gentleman,  exiled  to  the  wil 
derness  of  the  Northwest  in  the  service  of 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company.  And  Meta's 
mother  had  broken  no  law  of  her  rudiment 
ary  conscience.  She  had  not  swerved  in 
her  own  wild  allegiance,  nor  suffered  deser 
tion  by  her  white  chief.  He  had  been 


180  THE    TRUMPETER 

killed  in  some  obscure  frontier  fight,  and  his 
goods,  including  the  woman  and  child,  were 
the  stake  for  which  he  had  perished.  But 
Father  Josette,  who  knew  all  things  and 
all  people  of  those  parts,  and  had  baptized 
the  infant  by  the  sainted  name  of  Marga 
ret,  had  traced  his  lost  plant  of  grace  and 
conveyed  it  out  of  the  forest  shades  into 
the  sunshine  of  a  Christian  white  woman's 
home.  Father  Josette  —  so  Mrs.  Meadows 
maintained  —  had  known  that  the  babe 
would  prove  worthy  of  transplantation. 

She  made  room  for  the  little  black-headed 
stranger,  with  soft  eyes  like  a  mouse  (by  the 
blessing  of  God  she  had  never  lost  a  child, 
and  the  nest  was  full,)  in  the  midst  of  her 
own  fat,  fair-haired  brood,  and  cherished  her 
in  her  place,  and  gave  her  a  daughter's  priv 
ilege. 

In  a  wild,  woodlandish  way  Meta  was  a  bit 
of  an  heiress  in  her  own  right.  She  had  in 
herited  through  her  mother  a  share  in  the 
yearly  increase  of  a  band  of  Bannock  ponies 
down  on  the  Salmon  meadows;  and  every 
season,  after  grand  round-up,  the  settlement 
was  made,  —  always  with  distinct  fairness, 
though  it  took  some  time,  and  a  good  deal  of 


THE   TRUMPETER  181 

eating,  drinking,  and  diplomacy,  before  the 
business  could  be  accomplished. 

"  What  is  a  matter  of  a  field  worth  forty 
shekels  betwixt  thee  and  me  ?  "  was  the  eti 
quette  of  the  transaction,  but  the  outcome 
was  practically  the  same  as  in  the  days  of 
patriarchal  transfers  of  real  estate. 

Father  Meadows  would  say  that  it  cost 
him  twice  over  what  the  maiden's  claim  was 
worth  to  have  her  cousins  the  Bannocks,  with 
their  wives  and  children  and  horses,  camped 
on  his  borders  every  summer;  for  Meta's 
dark-skinned  brethren  never  sent  her  the 
worth  of  her  share  in  money,  but  came  them 
selves  with  her  ponies  in  the  flesh,  and  spare 
ponies  of  their  own,  for  sale  in  the  town; 
and  on  Father  Meadows  was  the  burden  of 
keeping  them  all  good-natured,  of  satisfying 
their  primitive  ideas  of  hospitality,  and  of 
pasturing  Meta's  ponies  until  they  could 
finally  be  sold  for  her  benefit.  No  account 
was  kept,  in  this  simple,  generous  household, 
of  what  was  done  for  Meta,  but  strict  account 
was  kept  of  what  was  Meta's  own. 

The  Bannock  .brethren  were  very  proud 
of  their  fair  kinswoman  who  dwelt  in  the 
tents  of  Jacob.  They  called  her,  amongst 


182  THE   TRUMPETER 

themselves,  by  the  name  they  give  to  the  ma- 
riposa  lily,  the  closed  bud  of  which  is  pure 
white  as  the  whitest  garden  lily ;  but  as 
each  Psyche-wing  petal  opens  it  is  mooned  at 
the  base  with  a  dark,  purplish  stain  which 
marks  the  flower  with  startling  beauty,  yet 
to  some  eyes  seems  to  mar  it  as  well.  With 
every  new  bud  the  immaculate  promise  is  re 
newed;  but  the  leopard  cannot  change  his 
spots  nor  the  wild  hill  lily  her  natal  stain. 

This  year  the  sale  of  pony  flesh  amounted 
to  nearly  a  hundred  dollars,  which  Father 
Meadows  put  away  for  Meta's  future  benefit, 
—  all  but  one  gold  piece,  which  the  mother 
showed  her,  telling  her  that  it  represented  a 
new  dress. 

"  You  need  a  new  white  one  for  your  best, 
and  I  shall  have  it  made  long.  You  're  fill 
ing  out  so,  I  don't  believe  you  '11  grow  much 
taller." 

Meta  smiled  sedately.  In  spite  of  the 
yearly  object  lesson  her  dark  kinsfolk  pre 
sented,  she  never  classed  herself  among  the 
hybrids.  She  accepted  homage  and  tribute 
from  the  tribe,  but  in  her  consciousness,  at 
this  time,  she  was  all  white.  This  was  due 
partly  to  Mother  Meadows's  large-hearted 


THE   TRUMPETER  183 

and  romantic  theories  of  training,  and  partly 
to  an  accident  of  heredity.  The  woman 
who  looks  the  squaw  is  the  squaw,  when  it 
comes  to  the  flowering  time  of  her  life.  To 
Meta  had  succeeded  the  temperament  of 
her  mother  expressed  in  the  features  of  her 
father ;  whether  Canadian  trapper  or  Scotch 
grandee,  he  had  owned  an  admirable  profile. 
A  great  social  and  musical  event  took 
place  that  summer  in  the  town,  and  Meta's 
first  long  dress  was  finished  in  time  to  play 
its  part,  as  such  trifles  will,  in  the  simple 
fates  of  girlhood.  It  was  by  far  the  pret 
tiest  dress  she  had  ever  put  over  her  head : 
the  work  of  a  professional,  to  begin  with. 
Then  its  length  persuaded  one  that  she  was 
taller  than  nature  had  made  her.  Its  short 
waist  suited  her  youthful  bust  and  flat  back 
and  narrow  shoulders.  The  sleeves  were 
puffed  and  stood  out  like  wings,  and  were 
gathered  on  a  ribbon  which  tied  in  a  bow 
just  above  the  bend  of  her  elbow.  Her 
arms  were  round  and  soft  as  satin,  and 
pinkish-pale  inside,  like  the  palms  of  her 
small  hands.  All  her  skin,  though  dark,  was 
as  clear  as  wine  in  a  colored  glass.  The 
neck  was  cut  down  in  a  circle  below  her 


184  THE   TRUMPETER 

throat,  which  she  shyly  clasped  with  her 
hands,  not  being  accustomed  to  feel  it  bare. 
And  as  naturally  as  a  bird  would  open  its 
beak  for  a  worm,  she  exclaimed  to  Mother 
Meadows,  "  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  had  some 
beads ! ' '  And  before  night  she  had  strung 
herself  a  necklace  of  the  gold-colored  pom 
pons  with  silver-gray  stems  that  spangle  the 
dry  hills  in  June,  —  "  butter-balls  "  the  West 
ern  children  call  them, — and,  in  spite  of 
the  laughter  and  gibes  of  the  other  girls, 
she  wore  her  sylvan  ornament  on  the  gala 
night,  and  its  amazing  becomingness  was  its 
best  defense. 

So  Meta's  first  long  dress  went,  in  com 
pany  with  three  other  unenvious  white 
dresses  and  Father  Meadows's  best  coat,  to 
hear  the  "  Coonville  Minstrels,"  a  company 
of  amateur  performers  representing  the  best 
musical  talent  in  the  town,  who  would  ap 
pear  "  for  one  night  only,"  for  the  benefit  of 
the  free  circulating  library  fund. 

Henniker  was  not  in  attendance  on  his 
girl  as  usual. 

"  What  a  pity,"  the  sisters  said,  "  that  he 
should  have  to  be  on  guard  to-night !  "  But 
Meta  remembered,  though  she  did  not  say 


THE   TRUMPETER  185 

so,  that  Henniker  had  been  on  guard  only 
two  nights  before,  so  it  could  not  be  his  turn 
again,  and  that  could  not  explain  his  ab 
sence. 

But  Callie  was  as  gay  as  ever,  and  did 
not  seem  put  out,  even  at  her  father's  ban 
tering  insinuations  about  some  other  possible 
girl  who  might  be  scoring  in  her  place. 

The  sisters  were  enraptured  over  every 
number  on  the  programme.  The  performers 
had  endeavored  to  conceal  their  identity  un 
der  burnt  cork  and  names  that  were  ficti 
tious  and  humorous,  but  everybody  was  com 
paring  guesses  as  to  which  was  which,  and 
who  was  who.  The  house  was  packed,  and 
"  society  "  was  there.  The  feminine  half  of 
it  did  not  wear  its  best  frock  to  the  show  and 
its  head  uncovered,  but  what  of  that !  A  girl 
knows  when  she  is  looking  her  prettiest,  and 
the  young  Meadowses  were  in  no  way  con 
cerned  for  the  propriety  of  their  own  appear 
ance.  Father  Meadows,  looking  along  the 
row  of  smiling  faces  belonging  to  him,  was  as 
well  satisfied  as  any  man  in  the  house.  His 
eyes  rested  longer  than  usual  on  little  Meta 
to-night.  He  saw  for  the  first  time  that  the 
child  was  a  beauty ;  not  going  to  be, —  she  was 


186  THE    TRUMPETER 

one  then  and  there.  Her  hair,  which  she  was 
accustomed  to  wear  in  two  tightly  braided 
pigtails  down  her  back,  had  been  released 
and  brushed  out  all  its  stately  maiden  length, 
"  crisped  like  a  war  steed's  encolure."  It 
fell  below  her  waist,  and  made  her  face  and 
throat  look  pale  against  its  blackness.  A 
spot  of  white  electric  light  touched  her  chest 
where  it  rose  and  fell  beneath  the  chain  of 
golden  blossom  balls, —  orange  gold,  the  cav 
alry  color.  She  looked  like  no  other  girl 
in  the  house,  though  nearly  every  girl  in 
town  was  there. 

Part  I.  of  the  programme  was  finished ;  a 
brief  wait, —  the  curtain  rose,  and  behold 
the  colored  gentlemen  from  Coonville  had 
vanished.  Only  the  interlocutor  remained, 
scratching  his  white  wool  wig  over  a  letter 
which  he  begged  to  read  in  apology  for  his 
predicament.  His  minstrelsy  had  decamped, 
and  spoilt  his  show.  They  wrote  to  inform 
him  of  the  obvious  fact,  and  advised  him 
facetiously  to  throw  himself  upon  the  indul 
gence  of  the  house,  but  "by  no  means  to 
refund  the  money." 

Poor  little  Meta  believed  that  she  was 
listening  to  the  deplorable  truth,  and  won- 


THE   TRUMPETER  187 

dered  how  Father  Meadows  and  the  girls 
could  laugh. 

"  Oh,  won't  there  be  any  second  part, 
after  all  ?  "  she  despaired  ;  at  which  Father 
Meadows  laughed  still  more,  and  pinched 
her  cheek,  and  some  persons  in  the  row  of 
chairs  in  front  half  turned  and  smiled. 

"  Goosey,"  whispered  Callie,  "  don't  you 
see  he  's  only  gassing  ?  This  is  part  of  the 
fun." 

"  Oh,  is  it  ?  "  sighed  Meta,  and  she  waited 
for  the  secret  of  the  fun  to  develop. 

"  Look  at  your  programme,"  Callie  in 
structed  her.  "  See,  this  is  the  Impressa- 
rio's  Predicament.  The  Wandering  Minstrel 
comes  next.  He  will  be  splendid,  I  can  tell 
you." 

"  Mr.  Piper  Hide-and-Seek,"  murmured 
Meta,  studying  her  programme.  "  What  a 
funny  name !  " 

"  Oh,  you  child !  "  Callie  laughed  aloud, 
but  as  suddenly  hushed,  for  the  sensation  of 
the  evening,  to  the  Meadows  party,  had 
begun. 

A  very  handsome  man,  in  the  gala  dress  of 
a  stage  peasant,  of  the  Bavarian  Highlands 
possibly,  came  forward  with  a  short,  military 


188  THE   TRUMPETER 

step,  and  bowed  impressively.  There  was  a 
burst  of  applause  from  the  bluecoats  in  the 
gallery,  and  much  whistling  and  stamping 
from  the  boys. 

"Who  is  it?"  the  lady  in  front  whis 
pered  to  her  neighbor. 

"  One  of  the  soldiers  from  the  post,"  was 
the  answer. 

"Really!" 

But  the  lady's  accent  of  surprise  con 
veyed  nothing,  beside  the  speechless  admira 
tion  of  the  Meadows  family.  Callie,  who 
had  been  in  the  exciting  secret  all  along, 
whispered  violently  with  the  other  girls, 
but  Meta  had  become  quite  cold  and  shivery. 
She  could  not  have  uttered  a  word. 

Henniker  made  a  little  speech  in  an  as 
sumed  accent  which  astonished  his  friends 
almost  more  than  his  theatrical  dress  and 
bearing.  He  said  he  was  a  stranger,  piping 
his  way  through  a  foreign  land,  but  he  could 
"spik  ze  Engleesh  a  leetle."  Would  the 
ladies  and  gentlemen  permit  him,  in  the  em 
barrassing  absence  of  better  performers,  to 
present  them  with  a  specimen  of  his  poor 
skill  upon  a  very  simple  instrument?  Be 
hold  ! 


THE   TRUMPETER  189 

He  flung  back  his  short  cloak,  and  filled 
his  chest,  standing  lightly  on  his  feet,  with 
his  elbows  raised. 

No  rattling  trumpet  blast  from  the  ar 
tist's  lips  to-night,  but,  still  and  small,  sus 
tained  and  clear,  the  pure  reed  note  trilled 
forth.  Willow  whistles  piping  in  spring 
time  in  the  stillness  of  deep  meadow  lands 
before  the  grass  is  long,  or  in  flickering 
wood  paths  before  the  full  leaves  darken  the 
boughs  —  such  was  the  pastoral  simplicity 
of  the  instrument  with  which  Henniker  be 
guiled  his  audience.  Such  was  the  quality 
of  sound,  but  the  ingenuity,  caprice,  delicacy, 
and  precision  of  its  management  were  quite 
his  own.  They  procured  him  a  wild  en 
core. 

Henniker  had  been  nervous  at  the  first 
time  of  playing ;  it  would  have  embarrassed 
him  less  to  come  before  a  strange  house ;  for 
there  were  the  captain  and  the  captain's 
lady,  and  the  lieutenants  with  their  best 
girls  ;  and  forty  men  he  knew  were  nudging 
and  winking  at  one  another;  and  there 
were  the  bonny  Meadowses,  with  their  eyes 
upon  him  and  their  faces  all  aglow.  But  who 
was  she,  the  little  big-eyed  dark  one  in  their 


190  THE   TRUMPETER 

midst  ?  He  took  her  in  more  coolly  as  he 
came  before  the  house  the  second  time ;  and 
this  time  he  knew  her,  but  not  as  he  ever 
had  known  her  before. 

Is  it  one  of  nature's  revenges  that  in  the 
beauty  of  their  women  lurks  the  venom  of 
the  dark  races  which  the  white  man  has 
put  beneath  his  feet?  The  bruised  ser 
pent  has  its  sting ;  and  we  know  how,  from 
Moab  and  Midian  down,  the  daughters  of 
the  heathen  have  been  the  unhappy  instru 
ments  of  proud  Israel's  fall;  but  the  shaft 
of  his  punishment  reaches  him  through  the 
body  of  the  woman  who  cleaves  to  his 
breast. 

That  one  look  of  Henniker's  at  Meta, 
in  her  strange  yet  familiar  beauty,  sitting 
captive  to  his  spell,  went  through  his  flat 
tered  senses  like  the  intoxication  of  strong 
drink.  He  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  her 
again.  His  face  was  pale  with  the  complex 
excitement  of  a  full  house  that  was  all  one 
girl  and  all  hushed  through  joy  of  him.  She 
sat  so  close  to  Gallic,  his  reckless  glances 
might  have  been  meant  for  either  of  them ; 
Gallic  thought  at  first  they  were  for  her,  but 
she  did  not  think  so  long. 


THE   TRUMPETER  191 

Something  followed  on  the  programme  at 
which  everybody  laughed,  but  it  meant  no 
thing  at  all  to  Meta.  She  thought  the  su 
preme  moment  had  come  and  gone,  when  a 
big  Zouave  in  his  barbaric  reds  and  blues 
marched  out  and  took  his  stand,  back  from 
the  footlights,  between  the  wings,  and  began 
that  amazing  performance  with  a  rifle  which 
is  known  as  the  "  Zouave  drill." 

The  dress  was  less  of  a  disguise  than  the 
minstrel's  had  been,  and  it  was  a  sterner, 
manlier  transformation.  It  brought  out  the 
fighting  look  hi  Henniker.  The  footlights 
were  lowered,  a  smoke  arose  behind  the 
wings,  strange  lurid  colors  were  cast  upon 
the  figure  of  the  soldier  magician. 

"  The  stage  is  burning ! "  gasped  Meta, 
clutching  Callie's  arm. 

"  It 's  nothing  but  red  fire.  You  must  n't 
give  yourself  away  so,  Meta ;  folks  will  take 
us  for  a  lot  of  sagebrushers." 

Meta  settled  back  in  her  place  with  a 
fluttering  sigh,  and  poured  her  soul  into  this 
new  wonder. 

But  Henniker  was  not  doing  himself 
justice  to-night,  his  comrades  thought.  No 
one  present  was  so  critical  of  him  or  so 


192  THE    TRUMPETER 

proud  of  him  as  they.  A  hundred  times  he 
had  put  himself  through  this  drill  before  a 
barrack  audience,  and  it  had  seemed  as  if 
be  could  not  make  a  break.  But  to-night 
his  nerve  was  not  good.  Once  he  actually 
dropped  his  piece,  and  a  groan  escaped  the 
row  of  uniforms  in  the  gallery.  This  made 
him  angry ;  he  pulled  himself  up  and  did 
some  good  work  for  a  moment,  and  then 
—  "  Great  Scott !  he 's  lost  it  again  !  No, 
he  has  n't.  Brace  up,  man  !  "  The  rifle 
swerves,  but  Henniker's  knee  flies  up  to 
catch  it ;  the  sound  of  the  blow  on  the 
bone  makes  the  women  shiver ;  but  he  has 
his  piece,  and  sends  it  savagely  whirling, 
and  that  miss  was  his  last.  His  head  was 
like  the  centre  of  a  spinning  top  or  the  hub 
of  a  flying  wheel.  He  felt  ugly  from  the 
pain  of  his  knee,  but  he  made  a  dogged 
finish,  and  only  those  who  had  seen  him  at 
his  best  would  have  said  that  his  drill  was 
a  failure. 

Henniker  knew,  if  no  one  else  did,  what 
had  lost  him  his  grip  in  the  rifle  act.  His 
eyes,  which  should  have  been  glued  to  his 
work,  had  been  straying  for  another  and 
yet  one  more  look  at  Meta.  Where  she 


THE   TRUMPETER  193 

sat  so  still  was  the  storm  centre  of  emotion 
in  the  house,  and  when  his  eyes  approached 
her  they  caught  the  nerve  shock  that  shook 
his  whole  system  and  spoiled  his  fine  work. 
He  cared  nothing  for  the  success  of  his 
piping  when  he  thought  of  the  failure  of 
his  drill.  The  failure  had  come  last,  and, 
with  other  things,  it  left  its  sting. 

On  the  way  home  to  barracks,  the  boys 
were  all  talking,  in  their  free  way,  about 
Meta  Meadows,  —  the  little  broncho,  they 
called  her,  in  allusion  to  her  great  mane  of 
hair,  —  which  made  Henniker  very  hot. 

He  would  not  own  that  his  knee  pained 
him ;  he  would  not  have  it  referred  to,  and 
was  ready,  next  day,  to  join  the  riders  in 
squad  drill,  a  new  feature  of  which  was  the 
hurdles  and  ditch- jumping  and  the  mounted 
exercises,  in  which  as  usual,  Henniker  had 
distinguished  himself. 

The  Reservation  is  bounded  on  the  south 
east  side,  next  the  town,  by  an  irrigation 
ditch,  which  is  crossed  by  as  many  little 
bridges  as  there  are  streets  that  open  out 
upon  the  common.  (All  this  part  of  the 
town  is  laid  out  in  "additions,"  and  is 
sparsely  built  up.)  Close  to  this  division 


194  THE    TRUMPETER 

line,  at  right  angles  with  it,  are  the  dry 
ditches  and  hurdle  embankments  over  which 
the  stern  young  corporals  put  their  squads, 
under  the  eye  of  the  captain. 

Out  in  the  centre  of  the  plain  other 
squads  are  engaged  in  the  athletics  of  horse 
manship,  —  a  series  of  problems  in  action 
which  embraces  every  sort  of  emergency  a 
mounted  man  may  encounter  in  the  rush 
and  throng  of  battle,  and  the  means  of  in 
stantly  meeting  it,  and  of  saving  his  own 
life  or  that  of  a  comrade.  So  much  more  is 
made  in  these  days  of  the  individual  powers 
of  the  man  and  horse  that  it  is  wonder 
ful  to  see  what  an  exact  yet  intelligently 
obedient  combination  they  have  become ; 
no  less  effective  in  a  charge,  as  so  many 
pounds  of  live  momentum  to  be  hurled  on 
the  bayonet  points,  but  much  more  self- 
reliant  on  scout  service,  or  when  scattered 
singly,  in  defeat,  over  a  wide,  strange  field 
of  danger. 

On  the  regular  afternoons  for  squad  and 
troop  drill,  the  ditch  bank  on  the  town  side 
would  be  lined  with  spectators :  ladies  in 
light  cotton  dresses  and  beflowered  hats, 
small  bare-legged  boys  and  muddy  dogs,  the 


THE   TRUMPETER  195 

small  boys'  sisters  dragging  bonnetless  ba 
bies  by  the  hand,  and  sometimes  a  tired 
mother  who  has  come  in  a  hurry  to  see 
where  her  little  truants  have  strayed  to,  or 
a  cowboy  lounging  sideways  on  his  peaked 
saddle,  condescending  to  look  on  at  the  rid 
ing  of  Uncle  Sam's  boys.  The  crowd  as 
sorts  itself  as  the  people  do  who  line  the 
barriers  at  a  bull-fight :  those  who  have  para 
sols,  to  the  shadow ;  those  who  have  barely 
a  hat,  to  the  sun. 

Here,  on  the  field  of  the  gray-green  plain, 
under  the  glaring  tent  roof  of  the  desert  sky, 
the  national  free  circus  goes  on,  —  to  the 
screaming  delight  of  the  small  boys,  the  fear 
and  exultation  of  the  ladies,  and  the  alter 
nate  pride  and  disgust  of  the  officers  who 
have  it  in  charge. 

A  squad  of  the  boldest  riders  are  jump 
ing,  six  in  line.  One  can  see  by  the  way 
they  come  that  every  man  will  go  over :  first 
the  small  ditch,  hardly  a  check  in  the  pace; 
then  a  rush  at  the  hurdle  embankment,  the 
horses'  heads  very  grand  and  Greek  as  they 
rear  in  a  broken  line  to  take  it.  Their 
faces  are  as  strong  and  wild  as  the  faces  of 
the  men.  Their  flanks  are  slippery  with 


196  THE   TRUMPETER 

sweat.  They  clear  the  hurdles,  and  stretch 
out  for  the  wide  ditch. 

"  Keep  in  line  !  Don't  crowd !  "  the 
corporal  shouts.  They  are  doing  well,  he 
thinks.  Over  they  all  go ;  and  the  ladies 
breathe  again,  and  say  to  each  other  how 
much  finer  this  sport  is  because  it  is  work, 
and  has  a  purpose  in  it. 

Now  the  guidon  comes,  riding  alone,  and 
the  whole  troop  is  proud  of  him.  The  sig 
nal  flag  flashes  erect  from  the  trooper's  stir 
rup  ;  the  horse  is  new  to  it,  and  fears  it  as 
if  it  were  something  pursuing  him ;  but  in 
the  face  of  horse  and  man  is  the  same  fixed 
expression,  the  sober  recklessness  that  goes 
straight  to  the  finish.  If  these  do  not  go 
over,  it  will  not  be  for  want  of  the  spur  in 
the  blood. 

Next  comes  a  pale  young  cavalryman  just 
out  of  the  hospital.  He  has  had  a  fall  at 
the  hurdle  week  before  and  strained  his 
back.  His  captain  sees  that  he  is  nervous 
and  not  yet  fit  for  the  work,  yet  cannot 
spare  him  openly.  He  invents  an  order, 
and  sends  him  off  to  another  part  of  the 
field  where  the  other  squads  are  manoeu 
vring. 


THE    TRUMPETER  197 

If  it  is  not  in  the  man  to  go  over,  it  will 
not  be  in  his  horse,  though  a  poor  horse  may 
put  a  good  rider  to  shame ;  but  the  measure  of 
every  man  and  every  horse  is  taken  by  those 
who  have  watched  them  day  by  day. 

The  ladies  are  much  concerned  for  the 
man  who  fails,  —  "  so  sorry  "  they  are  for 
him,  as  his  horse  blunders  over  the  hurdle, 
and  slackens  when  he  ought  to  go  free  ;  and 
of  course  he  jibs  at  the  wide  ditch,  and  the 
rider  saws  on  his  mouth. 

"  Give  him  his  head !  Where  are  your 
spurs,  man  ?  "  the  corporal  shouts,  and  adds 
something  under  his  breath  which  cannot  be 
said  in  the  presence  of  his  captain.  In  they 
go,  floundering,  on  their  knees  and  noses, 
horse  and  man,  and  the  ladies  cannot  see, 
for  the  dust,  which  of  them  is  on  top ;  but 
they  come  to  the  surface  panting,  and  the 
man,  whose  uniform  is  of  the  color  of  the 
ditch,  climbs  on  again,  and  the  corporal's 
disgust  is  heard  in  his  voice  as  he  calls, 
«  Ne-aaxt ! " 

It  need  not  be  said  that  no  corporal  ever 
asked  Henniker  where  were  his  spurs.  To 
day  the  fret  in  his  temper  fretted  his  horse, 
a  young,  nervous  animal  who  did  not  need 


198  THE    TRUMPETER 

to  know  where  Ms  rider's  heels  were  quite  so 
often  as  Henniker's  informed  him. 

"  Is  that  a  non-commissioned  officer  who 
is  off,  and  his  horse  scouring  away  over  the 
plain?  What  a  dire  mortification,"  the 
ladies  say,  "  and  what  a  consolation  to  the 
bunglers ! " 

No,  it  is  the  trumpeter.  He  was  taking 
the  hurdle  in  a  rush  of  the  whole  squad  > 
his  check-strap  broke,  and  his  horse  went 
wild,  and  slammed  himself  into  another 
man's  horse,  and  ground  his  rider's  knee 
against  his  comrade's  carbine.  It  is  Henni- 
ker  who  is  down  in  the  dust,  cursing  the 
carbine,  and  cursing  his  knee,  and  cursing 
the  mischief  generally. 

The  ladies  strolled  home  through  the 
heat,  and  said  how  glorious  it  was  and  how 
awfully  real,  and  how  one  man  got  badly 
hurt ;  and  they  described  in  detail  the  sight 
of  Henniker  limping  bareheaded  in  the  sun, 
holding  on  to  a  comrade's  shoulder ;  how 
his  face  was  a  "  ghastly  brown  white,"  and 
his  eyes  were  bloodshot,  and  his  black  head 
dun  with  dust. 

"  It  was  the  trumpeter  who  blew  so 
beautifully  the  other  night,  —  who  hurt  his 


THE   TRUMPETER  199 

knee  in  the  rifle  drill,"  they  said.  "  It  was 
his  knee  that  was  hurt  to-day.  I  wonder  if 
it  was  the  same  knee  ?  " 

It  was  the  same  knee,  and  this  time  Hen- 
niker  went  to  hospital  and  stayed  there; 
and  being  no  malingerer,  his  confinement 
was  bitterly  irksome  and  a  hurt  to  his  physi 
cal  pride. 

The  post  surgeon's  house  is  the  last  one 
on  the  line.  Then  comes  the  hospital,  but 
lower  down  the  hill.  The  officer's  walk 
reaches  it  by  a  pair  of  steps  that  end  in 
a  slope  of  grass.  There  are  moisture  and 
shade  where  the  hospital  stands,  and  a 
clump  of  box-elder  trees  is  a  boon  to  the 
convalescents  there.  The  road  between  bar 
racks  and  canteen  passes  the  angle  of  the 
whitewashed  fence;  a  wild  syringa  bush 
grows  on  the  hospital  side,  and  thrusts  its 
blossoms  over  the  wall.  There  is  a  broken 
board  in  the  fence  which  the  syringa  partly 
hides. 

After  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  this 
is  the  coolest  corner  of  the  hospital  grounds ; 
and  here,  on  the  grass,  Henniker  was  lying, 
one  day  of  the  second  week  of  his  confine 
ment. 


200  THE    TRUMPETER 

He  had  been  half  asleep  when  a  soft,  light 
thump  on  the  grass  aroused  him.  A  stray 
kitten  had  crawled  through  the  hole  in  the 
fence,  and,  feeling  her  way  down  with  her 
forepaws,  had  leaped  to  the  ground  beside 
him. 

"  Hey,  pussy  !  "  Henniker  welcomed  her 
pleasantly,  and  then  was  silent.  A  hand 
had  followed  the  kitten  through  the  hole  in 
the  fence,  —  a  smooth  brown  hand  no  bigger 
than  a  child's,  but  perfect  in  shape  as  a  wo 
man's.  The  small  fingers  moved  and  curled 
enticingly. 

"Pussy,  pussy?  Come,  pussy!"  a  soft 
voice  cooed.  "Puss,  puss,  puss?  Come, 
pussy  !  "  The  fingers  groped  about  in 
empty  air.  "  Where  are  you,  pussy  ?  " 

Henniker  had  quietly  possessed  himself 
of  the  kitten,  which,  moved  by  these  siren 
tones,  began  to  squirm  a  little  and  meekly  to 
"  miew."  He  reached  forth  his  hand  and 
took  the  small  questing  one  prisoner  ;  then 
he  let  the  kitten  go.  There  was  a  brief 
speechless  struggle,  quite  a  useless  one. 

"  Let  me  go  1     Who  is  it  ?     Oh  dear  I " 

Another  pull.  Plainly,  from  the  tone, 
this  last  was  feminine  profanity. 


THE   TRUMPETER  201 

Silence  again,  the  hand  struggling  persis 
tently,  but  in  vain.  The  soft  bare  arm, 
working  against  the  fence,  became  an  angry 
red. 

"  Softly  now.  It 's  only  me.  Did  n't  you 
know  I  was  in  hospital,  Meta  ?  " 

"  Is  it  you,  Henniker  ?  " 

"  Indeed  it  is.  You  would  n't  begrudge 
me  a  small  shake  of  your  hand,  after  all 
these  days  ?  " 

"  But  you  are  not  in  hospital  now  ?  " 

"  That 's  what  I  am.  I  'm  not  in  bed, 
but  I  'm  going  on  three  legs  when  I  'm 
going  at  all.  I  'm  a  house-bound  man."  A 
heavy  sigh  from  Henniker. 

"  Have  n't  you  shaken  hands  enough  now, 
Henniker?"  beseechingly  from  the  other 
side.  "  I  only  wanted  kitty ;  please  put 
her  through  the  fence." 

"  What 's  your  hurry  ?  " 

"  Have  you  got  her  there  ?  Gallic  left  her 
with  me.  I  must  n't  lose  her.  Please  ?  " 

"  Has  Callie  gone  away  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  did  n't  you  know  ?  She  has 
gone  to  stay  with  Tim's  wife."  (Tim 
Meadows  was  the  eldest,  the  married  son  of 
the  family.)  "  She  has  a  little  baby,  and 


202  THE    TRUMPETER 

they  can't  get  any  help,  and  father  would  n't 
let  mother  go  down  because  it 's  bad  for  her 
to  be  over  a  cook  stove,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know  the  old  lady  feels  the 
heat." 

"  We  are  quite  busy  at  the  house.  I 
came  of  an  errand  to  the  quartermaster- 
sergeant's,  and  kitty  followed  me,  and  the 
children  chased  her.  I  must  go  home  now," 
urged  Meta.  "  Really,  I  did  not  think  you 
would  be  so  foolish,  Henniker.  I  can't  see 
what  fun  there  is  in  this  !  " 

"  Yes,  but  Meta,  I  've  made  a  discovery, 
—  here  in  your  hand." 

"In  my  hand?  What  is  it?  Let  me 
see."  A  violent  determined  pull,  and  a 
sound  like  a  smothered  explosion  of  laughter 
from  Henniker. 

"  Softly,  softly  now.  You  '11  hurt  your 
self,  my  dear." 

"  Is  my  hand  dirty  ?  It  was  the  kitten, 
then  ;  her  paws  were  all  over  sand." 

"  Oh,  no.  Great  sign !  It 's  worse  than 
that.  It  '11  not  come  off." 

"  I  will  see  what  it  is !  " 

"  But  you  can't  see  unless  I  was  to  tell 
you.  I  'm  a  hand  reader,  did  you  know  it  ? 


THE   TRUMPETER  203 

I  can  tell  your  fortune  by  the  lines  on  your 
palm.  I  'm  reading  them  off  here  just  like 
a  book." 

"  Good  gracious !  what  do  you  see  ?  " 

"  Why,  it 's  a  most  extraordinary  thing ! 
Your  head  line  is  that  mixed  up  with  your 
heart  line,  'pon  me  word  I  can't  tell  which 
is  which.  Which  is  it,  Meta?  Do  you 
choose  your  friends  with  your  head  entirely, 
or  is  it  the  other  way  with  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  I  thought  you  could 
tell  fortunes  really.  I  don't  care  what  I 
am  ;  I  want  to  know  what  I  'm  going  to  do. 
Don't  you  see  anything  that 's  going  to 
happen  to  me  ?  " 

"  Lots  of  things.  I  see  something  that 's 
going  to  happen  to  you  right  now.  I  won 
der  did  it  ever  happen  to  you  before  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  ?     When  is  it  coming  ?  " 

"  It  has  come.  I  will  put  it  right  here 
in  your  hand.  But  I  shall  want  it  back 
again,  remember;  and  don't  be  giving  it 
away,  now,  to  anybody  else." 

A  mysterious  pause.  Meta  felt  a  breath 
upon  her  wrist,  and  a  kiss  from  a  mustached 
lip  was  pressed  into  the  hollow  of  her  hand. 

"Keep  that  till  I  ask  you  for  it,"  said 


204  THE   TRUMPETER 

Henniker  quite  sternly,  and  closed  her  hand 
tight  with  his  own.  The  hand  became  an 
expressive  little  fist. 

"  I  think  you  are  just  as  mean  and  silly 
as  you  can  be !  I  '11  never  believe  a  word 
you  say  again." 

"  Pussy,"  remarked  Henniker,  in  a 
mournful  aside,  "  go  ask  your  mistress  will 
she  please  forgive  me.  Tell  her  I'm  not 
exactly  sorry,  but  I  could  n't  help  it. 
Faith,  I  could  n't." 

"  I  'm  not  her  mistress,"  said  Meta. 

It  was  a  keen  reminder,  but  Henniker  did 
not  seem  to  feel  it  much. 

"  Go  tell  Meta,"  he  corrected.  "  Ask  her 
please  to  forgive  me,  and  I  '11  take  it  back, 
—  the  kiss,  I  mean." 

"I'm  going  now,"  said  Meta.  "Keep 
the  kitten,  if  you  want  her.  She  is  n't 
mine,  anyway." 

But  now  the  kitten  was  softly  crowded 
through  the  fence  by  Henniker,  and  Meta, 
relenting,  gathered  her  into  her  arms  and 
carried  her  home. 

It  was  certainly  not  his  absence  from 
Gallic' s  side  that  put  Henniker  in  such  a 
bad  humor  with  his  confinement.  He  grew 


THE   TRUMPETER  205 

morbid,  and  fell  into  treacherous  dreaming, 
and  wondered  jealously  about  the  other  boys, 
and  what  they  were  doing  with  themselves 
these  summer  evenings,  while  he  was  loafing 
on  crutches  under  the  hospital  trees.  He 
was  frankly  pining  for  his  freedom  before 
Callie  should  return.  He  wanted  a  few 
evenings  which  he  need  not  account  for  to 
anybody  but  himself ;  and  he  got  his  free 
dom,  unhappily,  in  time  to  do  the  mischief 
of  his  dream,  —  to  put  vain,  selfish  longings 
into  the  simple  heart  of  Meta,  and  to  spoil 
his  own  conscience  toward  his  promised  wife. 

Henniker  knew  the  ways  of  the  Meadows 
cottage  as  well  as  if  he  had  been  one  of  the 
family.  He  knew  that  Meta,  having  less 
skill  about  the  house  than  the  older  girls, 
took  the  part  of  chore-boy,  and  fetched  and 
drove  away  the  cows. 

It  were  simple  enough  to  cross  her  even 
ing  track  through  the  pale  sagebrush,  which 
betrayed  every  bit  of  contrasting  color,  the 
colors  of  Meta' s  hair-ribbon  and  her  evening 
frock ;  it  were  simple  enough,  had  she  been 
willing  to  meet  him.  But  Meta  had  lost 
confidence  in  the  hero  of  the  household. 
She  had  seen  Henniker  in  a  new  light ;  and 


206  TEE   TRUMPETER 

whatever  her  heart  line  said,  her  head  line 
told  her  that  she  had  best  keep  a  good 
breadth  of  sagebrush  between  herself  and 
that  particular  pair  of  broad  blue  shoulders 
that  moved  so  fast  above  it.  So  as  Henni- 
ker  advanced  the  girl  retreated,  obscurely, 
with  shy  doublings  and  turnings,  carefully 
managed  not  to  reveal  that  she  was  run 
ning  away;  for  that  might  vex  Henniker, 
and  she  was  still  too  loyal  to  the  family 
bond  to  wish  to  show  her  sister's  lover  an 
open  discourtesy.  She  did  not  dream  of  the 
possibility  of  his  becoming  her  own  lover, 
but  she  thought  him  capable  of  going  great 
lengths  in  his  very  peculiar  method  of  teasing. 

As  soon  as  he  understood  her  tactics 
Henniker  changed  his  own.  Without  an 
other  glance  in  her  direction  he  made  off  for 
the  hills,  but  not  too  far  from  the  trail  the 
cows  were  taking ;  and  choosing  a  secluded 
spot,  behind  a  thickset  clump  of  sage,  he 
took  out  his  rustic  pipe  and  waited,  and 
when  he  saw  her  he  began  to  play. 

Meta's  heart  jumped  at  the  first  note. 
She  stole  along,  drinking  in  the  sounds,  no 
one  molesting  or  making  her  afraid.  Ahead 
of  her,  as  she  climbed,  the  first  range  of 


THE   TRUMPETER  207 

hills  cast  a  glowing  reflection  in  her  face ; 
but  the  hills  beyond  were  darker,  cooler, 
and  the  blue-black  pines  stood  out  against 
the  sky-like  trees  of  a  far  cloud-country  cut 
off  by  some  aerial  gulf  from  the  most  Ven 
turesome  of  living  feet. 

Henniker  saw  the  girl  coming,  her  face 
alight  in  the  primrose  glow,  and  he  threw 
away  all  moments  but  the  present.  His 
breath  stopped ;  then  he  took  a  deep  inspi 
ration,  laid  his  lips  to  the  pipe,  and  played, 
softly,  subtly,  as  one  who  thinks  himself 
alone. 

She  had  discovered  him,  but  she  could 
not  drag  herself  very  far  away  from  those 
sounds.  At  last  she  sat  down  upon  the 
ground,  and  gave  herself  up  to  listening.  A 
springy  sagebush  supported  her  as  she  let 
herself  sink  back ;  one  arm  was  behind  her 
head,  to  protect  it  from  the  prickly  shoots. 

"  Meta,"  said  Henniker,  "  are  you  listen 
ing?  I  'm  talking  to  you  now." 

It  was  all  the  same  :  his  voice  was  like 
another  phrase  of  music.  He  went  on 
playing,  and  Meta  did  not  stir. 

Another  pause.  "Are  you  there  still, 
Meta?  I  was  lonesome  to-night,  but  you 


208  THE    TRUMPETER 

ran  away  from  me.  Was  that  friendly? 
You  like  my  music ;  then  why  don't  you 
like  me  ?  Well,  here  's  for  you  again, 
ungrateful !  "  He  went  on  playing. 

The  cows  were  wandering  wide  of  the 
trail,  towards  the  upper  valley.  Meta  began 
to  feel  herself  constrained,  and  not  in  the  di 
rection  of  her  duty.  She  rose,  cast  her  long 
braids  over  her  shoulder,  and  moved  reso 
lutely  away. 

Henniker  was  absorbed  in  what  he  was 
saying  to  her  with  his  pipe.  When  he  had 
made  a  most  seductive  finish  he  paused, 
and  spoke.  He  rose  and  looked  about  him. 
Meta  was  a  long  way  off,  down  the  valley, 
walking  fast.  He  bounded  after  her,  and 
caught  her  rudely  around  the  waist. 

"  See  here,  little  girl,  I  won't  be  made 
game  of  like  this !  I  was  playing  to  you, 
and  you  ran  off  and  left  me  tooting  like  a 
fool.  Was  that  right  ?  " 

"  I  had  to  go ;  it  is  getting  late.  The 
music  was  too  sweet.  It  made  me  feel  like 
I  could  cry."  She  lifted  her  long-lashed 
eyes  swimming  in  liquid  brightness.  Hen 
niker  caught  her  hand  in  his. 

"  I  was  playing  to  you,  Meta,  as  I  play 


THE   TRUMPETER  209 

to  no  one  else.  Does  a  person  steal  away 
and  leave  another  person  discoursin'  to  the 
empty  air  ?  I  did  n't  think  you  would  want 
to  make  a  fool  of  me." 

Meta  drew  away  her  hand  and  pressed  it 
in  silence  on  her  heart.  No  woman  of  An 
glo-Saxon  blood,  without  a  vast  amount  of 
training,  could  have  said  so  much  and  said 
it  so  naturally  with  a  gesture  so  hackneyed. 

Henniker  looked  at  her  from  under  his 
eyebrows,  biting  his  mustache.  He  took  a 
few  steps  away  from  her,  and  then  came 
back. 

"Meta,"  he  said,  in  a  different  voice, 
"  what  was  that  thing  you  wore  around  your 
neck,  the  other  night,  at  the  minstrels,  — 
that  filigree  gold  thing,  eh?  " 

The  girl  looked  up,  astonished ;  then  her 
eyes  fell,  and  she  colored  angrily.  No  In 
dian  or  dog  could  hate  to  be  laughed  at 
more  than  Meta;  and  she  had  been  so 
teased  about  her  innocent  make-believe 
necklace !  Had  the  girls  been  spreading 
the  joke  ?  She  had  suddenly  outgrown  the 
childish  good  faith  that  had  made  it  possi 
ble  for  her  to  deck  herself  in  it,  and  she 
wished  never  to  hear  the  thing  mentioned 


210  THE    TRUMPETER 

again.  She  hung  her  head  and  would  not 
speak. 

Henniker's  suspicions  were  characteristic. 
Of  course  a  girl  like  that  must  have  a  lover. 
Her  face  confessed  that  he  had  touched 
upon  a  tender  spot. 

"  It  was  a  pretty  thing,"  he  said  coldly. 
"  I  wonder  if  I  could  get  one  like  it  for 
Gallic  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  Callie  would  wear  one 
even  if  you  gave  it  to  her,"  Meta  answered 
with  spirit. 

"  I  say,  won't  you  tell  me  which  of  the 
boys  it  is,  Meta  ?  —  Won't  I  wear  the  life 
out  of  him,  just !  "  he  added  to  himself. 

«  Is  what  ?  " 

"  Your  best  fellah ;  the  one  who  gave 
you  that." 

"There  isn't  any.  It  was  nothing.  I 
won't  tell  you  what  it  was !  I  made  it  my 
self,  there  !  It  was  only  '  butterballs.'  " 

"  Oh,  good  Lord  !  "  laughed  Henniker. 

Meta  thought  he  was  laughing  at  her. 
It  was  too  much!  The  sweetness  of  his 
music  was  all  jangled  in  her  nerves.  Tears 
would  come,  and  then  more  tears  because  of 
the  first. 


THE   TRUMPETER  211 

Had  Meta  been  the  child  of  her  father, 
she  might  have  been  sitting  that  night  in 
one  of  the  vine-shaded  porches  of  the  houses 
on  the  line,  with  a  brace  of  young  lieutenants 
at  her  feet,  and  in  her  wildest  follies  with 
them  she  would  have  been  protected  by  all 
the  traditions  and  safeguards  of  her  class. 
As  she  was  the  child  of  her  mother,  in 
stead,  she  was  out  on  the  hills  with  Henni- 
ker.  And  how  should  the  squaw's  daughter 
know  the  difference  between  protection  and 
pursuit  ? 

When  Henniker  put  his  arm  around  her 
and  kissed  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  she  would 
not  have  changed  places  with  the  proudest 
lady  of  the  line,  —  captain's  wife,  lieuten 
ant's  sweetheart,  or  colonel's  daughter  of 
them  all.  Her  chief,  who  blew  the  trumpet, 
was  as  great  a  man  in  Meta's  eyes  as  the 
officer  who  buckled  on  his  sabre  in  obedience 
to  the  call. 

As  for  Henniker,  no  girl's  head  against 
his  breast  had  ever  looked  so  womanly  dear 
as  Meta's ;  no  shut  eyelids  that  he  had  ever 
kissed  had  covered  such  wild,  sweet  eyes. 
He  did  not  think  of  her  at  all  in  words,  any 
more  than  of  the  twilight  afterglow  in  which 


212  THE    TRUMPETER 

they  parted,  with  its  peculiar  intensity,  its 
pang  of  color.  He  simply  felt  her  ;  and  it 
was  nearest  to  the  poetic  passion  of  any 
emotion  that  he  had  ever  known. 

That  night  Meta  deceived  her  foster- 
mother,  and  lying  awake  beside  Callie's 
empty  cot,  in  the  room  which  the  two  girls 
shared  together,  she  treacherously  prayed 
that  it  might  be  long  before  her  sister's 
return.  The  wild  white  lily  had  opened, 
and  behold  the  stain  ! 

It  had  been  a  hard  summer  for  Tim 
Meadows's  family,  —  the  second  summer  on 
a  sagebrush  ranch,  their  small  capital  all  in 
the  ground,  the  first  hay  crop  ungathered, 
and  the  men  to  board  as  well  as  to  pay. 
The  boarding  was  Mrs.  Tim's  part;  yet 
many  a  young  wife  would  have  thought  that 
she  had  enough  to  do  with  her  own  family 
to  cook  and  wash  for,  and  her  first  baby 
to  take  care  of. 

"  You  '11  get  along  all  right,"  the  older 
mothers  encouraged  her.  "  A  summer  baby 
is  no  trouble  at  all." 

No  trouble  when  the  trouble  is  twenty 
years  behind  us,  among  the  joys  of  the  past. 
But  Tim's  wife  was  wondering  if  she  could 


THE   TRUMPETER  'Z 13 

hold  out  till  cool  weather  came,  when  the 
rush  of  the  farm  work  would  be  over,  and 
her  "  summer  baby "  would  be  in  short 
clothes  and  able  to  sit  alone.  The  heat  in 
their  four-roomed  cabin,  in  the  midst  of  the 
treeless  land,  was  an  ordeal  alone.  To  sleep 
in  the  house  was  impossible  ;  the  rooms  and 
the  windows  were  too  small  to  admit  enough 
air.  They  moved  their  beds  outside,  and 
slept  like  tramps  under  the  stars ;  and  the 
broad  light  awoke  them  at  earliest  dawn,  and 
the  baby  would  never  sleep  till  after  ten  at 
night,  when  the  dry  Plains  wind  began  to 
fan  the  face  of  the  weary  land.  Even  Cal- 
lie,  whose  part  in  the  work  was  subsidiary, 
lost  flesh,  and  the  roses  in  her  cheeks  turned 
sallow,  in  the  month  she  stayed  on  the  ranch ; 
but  she  would  have  been  ashamed  to  com 
plain,  though  she  was  heartsick  for  a  word 
from  Henniker.  He  had  written  to  her 
only  once. 

It  was  Mrs.  Meadows  who  thought  it 
high  time  that  Gallic  should  come  home. 
She  had  found  a  good  woman  to  take  her 
daughter's  place,  and  arranged  the  matter  of 
pay  herself.  Tim  had  said  they  could  get 
no  help,  but  his  mother  knew  what  that 


214  THE    TRUMPETER 

meant ;  such  help  as  they  could  afford  to 
pay  for  was  worse  than  none. 

It  seemed  a  poor  return  to  Callie,  for  her 
sisterly  service  in  the  valley,  to  come  home 
and  find  her  lover  a  changed  man.  Mrs. 
Meadows  said  he  was  like  all  the  soldiers 
she  had  ever  known,  —  light  come,  light  go. 
But  this  did  not  comfort  Callie  much,  nor 
more  to  be  reminded  what  a  good  thing  it 
was  she  had  found  him  out  in  time. 

Henniker  was  not  scoundrel  enough  to 
make  love  to  two  girls  at  once,  two  semi- 
sisters,  who  slept  in  the  same  room  and 
watched  each  other's  movements  in  the  same 
looking-glass.  It  was  no  use  pretending 
that  he  and  Callie  could  "  heat  their  broth 
over  again  ;  "  so  the.  coolness  came  speed 
ily  to  a  breach,  and  Henniker  no  longer 
openly,  in  fair  daylight,  took  the  path  to 
the  cottage  gate.  But  there  were  other 
paths. 

He  had  found  a  way  to  talk  to  Meta  with 
his  trumpet.  He  sent  her  messages  at 
guard-mounting,  as  the  guard  was  forming, 
when,  as  senior  trumpeter,  he  was  allowed  a 
choice  in  the  airs  he  played ;  and  when  he 
was  orderly  trumpeter,  and  could  not  come 


THE    TRUMPETER  215 

himself  to  say  it,  he  sent  her  his  good-night 
in  the  plaintive  notes  of  taps. 

This  was  the  climax  of  Henniker's  flirta 
tions  :  all  that  went  before  had  been  as 
nothing,  all  that  came  after  was  not  much 
worse  than  nothing.  It  was  the  one  sincere 
as  it  was  the  one  poetic  passion  of  his  life ; 
and  had  it  not  cost  him  his  self-respect 
through  his  baseness  to  Gallic,  and  the 
treachery  and  dissimulation  he  was  teaching 
to  an  innocent  child,  it  might  have  made 
him  a  faithful  man.  As  it  was,  his  soldier's 
honor  slept  ;  it  was  the  undisciplined  part 
of  him  that  spoke  to  the  elemental  nature  of 
the  girl ;  and  it  was  fit  that  a  trumpet's 
reckless  summons,  or  its  brief  inarticulate 
call,  like  the  note  of  a  wild  bird  to  its  mate, 
should  be  the  language  of  his  love. 

Retreat  had  sounded,  one  evening  in 
October,  but  it  made  no  stir  any  more  in 
the  cottage  where  the  girls  had  been  so  gay. 
Callie,  putting  the  tea  on  the  table,  remem 
bered,  as  she  heard  the  gun  fire,  how  in  the 
the  spring  Henniker  had  said  that  when 
"  sound  off  "  was  at  six  he  would  drop  in  to 
supper  some  night,  and  show  her  how  to 


216  THE   TRUMPETER 

make  chili  con  came,  a  dish  that  every 
soldier  knows  who  has  served  on  the  Mexi 
can  border.  Her  face  grew  hard,  for  these 
foolish,  unsleeping  reminders  were  as  con 
stant  as  the  bugle  calls. 

The  women  waited  for  the  head  of  the 
house  ;  but  as  he  did  not  come,  they  sat 
down  and  ate  quickly,  saving  the  best  dish 
hot  for  him. 

They  had  finished,  and  the  room  was 
growing  dusk,  when  he  came  in  breezily, 
and  called  at  once,  as  a  man  will,  for  a 
light.  Meta  rose  to  fetch  it.  The  door 
stood  open  between  the  fore-room  and  the 
kitchen,  where  she  was  groping  for  a  lamp. 
Mr.  Meadows  spoke  in  a  voice  too  big  for 
the  room.  He  had  just  been  conversing 
across  the  common  with  the  quartermaster- 
sergeant,  as  the  two  men's  footsteps  di 
verged  by  separate  paths  to  their  homes. 

"  I  hear  there's  going  to  be  a  change 
at  the  post ;  "  he  shouted.  "  The  — th  is 
going  to  leave  this  department,  and  C  troop 
of  the  Second  is  coming  from  Ouster. 
Sergeant  says  they  are  looking  for  orders 
any  day  now." 

Mrs.     Meadows,    before     she     thought, 


THE    TRUMPETER  217 

glanced  at  Callie.  The  girl  winced,  for 
she  hated  to  be  looked  at  like  that.  She  held 
up  her  head  and  began  to  sing  audaciously, 
drumming  with  her  fingers  on  the  table  :  — 

" '  When  my  mother  comes  to  know 
That  I  love  the  soldiers  so, 
She  will  lock  me  up  all  day, 
Till  the  soldiers  march  away.' ' ' 

"  What  sort  of  a  song  is  that  ?  "  asked 
her  father  sharply. 

Callie  looked  him  in  the  eyes.  "  Don't 
you  know  that  tune  ?  "  said  she.  "  Hen- 
niker  plays  that  at  guard-mount ;  and  some 
times  he  plays  this  :  — 

'  Oh,  whistle,  and  I  '11  come  to  you,  my  lad, 
Though  father  and  mither  and  a'  should  go  mad.' " 

"  Let  him  play  what  he  likes,"  said  the 
father  angrily.  "  His  saucy  jig  tunes  are 
nothing  to  us.  I  'm  thankful  no  girl  of 
mine  is  following  after  the  army.  It 's  a 
hard  life  for  a  woman,  I  can  tell  you,  in  the 
ranks." 

Callie  pushed  her  chair  back,  and  looked 
out  of  the  window  as  if  she  had  not  heard. 

"  Where  's  Meta  with  that  lamp  ?  Go 
and  see  what 's  keeping  her." 

"Sit  still,"  said   Mrs.   Meadows.      Sho 


218  THE   TRUMPETER 

went  herself  into  the  kitchen,  but  no  one 
heard  her  speak  a  word ;  yet  the  kitchen  was 
not  empty. 

There  was  a  calico-covered  lounge  that 
stood  across  the  end  of  the  room  ;  Meta  sat 
there,  quite  still,  her  back  against  the  wall. 
Mrs.  Meadows  took  one  look  at  her ;  then 
she  lighted  the  lamp  and  carried  it  into  the 
dining-room,  and  went  back  and  shut  her 
self  in  with  Meta. 

" '  When  my  mother  comes  to  know,' 

hummed  Callie.  Her  face  was  pale.  She 
hardly  knew  that  she  was  singing. 

"  Stop  that  song !  "  her  father  shouted. 
"  Go  and  see  what 's  the  matter  with  your 
sister." 

"  Sister  ?  "  repeated  Callie.  "  Meta  is  no 
sister  of  mine." 

"  She  's  your  tent-mate,  then.  Ye  grew 
nest-ripe  under  the  same  mother's  wing." 

"  Meta  can  use  her  own  wings  now,  you 
will  find.  She  grew  nest-ripe  very  young.'' 

Father  Meadows  knew  that  there  was 
trouble  inside  of  that  closed  door,  as  there 
was  trouble  inside  the  white  lips  and  shut 
heart  of  his  frank  and  joyous  Callie,  but  it 


THE   TRUMPETER  219 

was  "the  women's  business."  He  went 
out  to  attend  to  his  own. 

Irrigation  on  the  scale  of  a  small  cottage 
garden  is  tedious  work.  It  has  intervals  of 
silence  and  leaning  on  a  hoe  while  one  little 
channel  fills  or  trickles  into  the  next  one ; 
and  the  water  must  be  stopped  out  here,  and 
floated  longer  there,  like  the  bath  over  the 
surface  of  an  etcher's  plate.  Water  was 
scarce  and  the  rates  were  high  that  summer, 
and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  "  dry-point " 
work  with  a  hoe  in  Father  Meadows's  garden. 

He  had  come  to  one  of  the  discouraging 
places  where  the  ground  was  higher  than  the 
water  could  be  made  to  reach  without  a  deal 
of  propping  and  damming  with  shovelfuls  of 
earth.  This  spot  was  close  to  the  window 
of  the  kitchen  chamber,  which  was  "  mother's 
room."  She  was  in  there  talking  to  Meta. 
Her  voice  was  deep  with  the  maternal  note 
of  remonstrance ;  Meta's  was  sharp  and  high 
with  excitement  and  resistance.  Her  faint- 
ness  had  passed,  but  Mother  Meadows  had 
been  inquiring  into  causes. 

"  I  am  married  to  him,  mother !  He  is 
my  husband  as  much  as  he  can  be." 

"It  was  never  Father  Magrath  married 


220  THE   TRUMPETER 

you,  or  I  should  be  knowing  to  it  before 
now." 

"  No ;  we  went  before  a  judge,  or  a  jus 
tice,  in  the  town." 

"  In  town !  Well,  that  is  something ;  but 
be  sure  there  is  a  wrong  or  a  folly  some 
where  when  a  man  takes  a  young  girl  out  of 
her  home  and  out  of  her  church  to  be  mar 
ried.  If  Henniker  had  taken  you  '  soberly, 
in  the  fear  of  God ' "  — 

"  He  was  sober  !  "  cried  Meta.  "  I  never 
saw  him  any  other  way." 

"  Mercy  on  us  !  I  was  not  thinking  of 
the  man's  habits.  He  's  too  good  to  have 
done  the  way  he  has.  That 's  what  I  have 
against  him.  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  say 
to  Father  Josette.  The  disgrace  of  this  is 
on  me,  too,  for  not  looking  after  my  house 
better.  '  Never  let  her  be  humbled  through 
her  not  being  all  white,'  the  father  said 
when  he  brought  you  to  me,  and  God  knows 
I  never  forgot  that  your  little  heart  was 
white.  I  trusted  you  as  I  would  one  of  my 
own,  and  was  easier  on  you  for  fear  of  a 
mother's  natural  bias  toward  her  own  flesh 
and  blood;  and  now  to  think  that  you 
would  lie  to  me,  and  take  a  man  in  secret 


THE   TRUMPETER  221 

that  had  deceived  your  sister  before  you,  — 
as  if  nothing  mattered  so  that  you  got  what 
you  wanted  !  And  down  in  the  town,  with 
out  the  priest's  blessing  or  a  kiss  from  any 
of  us  belonging  to  you  !  It 's  one  way  to 
get  married,  but  it 's  not  the  right  way." 

"  Did  no  white  girl  ever  do  as  I  have  ?  " 
asked  Meta,  with  a  touch  of  sullenness. 

"  Plenty  of  them,  but  they  did  n't  make 
their  mothers  happy." 

Meta  stirred  restively  on  the  bed.  "  Will 
Father  Magrath  have  to  talk  to  me,  and 
Father  Josette,  and  all  the  fathers  ?  "  she 
inquired.  "  He  said  he  never  would  have 
married  Callie  anyway,  —  not  even  if  he 
could  n't  have  had  me." 

"  And  the  more  shame  to  him  to  say 
such  a  thing  to  one  sister  of  another! 
Callie  is  much  the  best  off  of  you  two." 
Mrs.  Meadows  rose  and  moved  heavily 
away  from  the  bed.  "  Well,"  she  said, 
"  most  marriages  are  just  one  couple  more. 
It  's  very  little  of  a  sacrament  there  is  about 
the  common  run  of  such  things,  but  I  hoped 
for  something  better  when  it  came  to  my 
girls'  turn.  However,  sorrow  is  the  sacra 
ment  God  sends  us,  to  give  us  a  chance  to 


222  THE   TRUMPETER 

learn  a  little  something  before  we  die.  I 
expect  you  '11  learn  your  lesson." 

She  came  back  to  the  bed,  and  Meta 
moaned  as  she  sat  down  again,  to  signify 
that  she  had  been  talked  to  enough.  But 
the  mother  had  something  practical  to  say, 
though  she  could  not  say  it  without  emo 
tional  emphasis,  for  her  outraged  feelings 
were  like  a  flood  that  has  come  down,  but 
has  not  yet  subsided. 

"  If  there 's  any  way  for  you  to  go  with 
Henniker  when  the  troop  goes,  it 's  with  him 
you  ought  to  be;  but  if  he  has  married 
without  his  captain's  consent,  he  '11  get  no 
help  at  barracks.  Do  you  know  how  that 
is,  Meta?" 

Meta  shook  her  head ;  but  presently  she 
forced  herself  to  speak  the  truth.  She  did 
know  that  Henniker  had  told  no  one  at  the 
post  of  his  marriage.  She  had  never  asked 
him  why,  nor  had  thought  that  it  mattered. 

"  Oh  my  I  I  was  afraid  of  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Meadows.  "  The  colonel  knows  it  was 
Callie  he  was  engaged  to.  Father  went  up 
to  see  him  about  Henniker,  and  the  colonel 
as  good  as  gave  his  word  for  him  that  he 
was  a  man  we  could  have  in  the  family.  A 


THE   TRUMPETER  223 

commanding  officer  doesn't  like  such  go 
ings-on  with  respectable  neighbors." 

Mrs.  Meadows  possibly  overestimated  the 
post  commandant's  interest  in  these  matters, 
but  she  had  gratefully  remembered  his  civil 
ity  to  her  husband  when  he  went  to  make 
fatherly  inquiries.  The  colonel  was  a  fa 
ther  himself,  and  had  seemed  to  appreciate 
their  anxiety  about  Callie's  choice.  It  was 
just  as  well  that  Meta  should  know  that 
none  of  the  constituted  authorities  were  on 
the  side  of  her  lover's  defection. 

Meta  said  nothing  to  all  this.  It  did  not 
touch  her,  only  as  it  bore  on  the  one  ques 
tion,  Was  Henniker  going  to  leaVe  her  be 
hind  him  ? 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  have  seen  him, 
that  he  has  n't  told  you  this  news  himself  ?  " 
asked  the  mother. 

"Last  night;  but  perhaps  he  did  not 
know." 

Henniker  had  known,  as  Mrs.  Meadows 
supposed,  but  having  to  shift  for  himself 
in  the  matter  of  transportation  for  the  wife 
he  had  never  acknowledged,  and  seeing  no 
way  of  providing  for  her  without  consider 
able  inconvenience  to  himself,  he  had  put 


224  THE   TRUMPETER 

off  the  pain  of  breaking  to  her  the  parting 
that  must  come.  In  their  later  consultations 
Meta  had  mentioned  her  "  pony  money,"  as 
she  called  it,  and  Henniker  had  privately 
welcomed  the  existence  of  such  a  fund.  It 
lightened  the  pressure  of  his  own  responsibil 
ity  in  the  future,  in  case  —  but  he  did  not 
formulate  his  doubts.  There  are  more  un 
certainties  than  anything  else,  except  hard 
work,  in  the  life  of  an  enlisted  man. 

Father  Meadows  purposely  would  not 
speak  of  Meta's  resources.  He  felt  that 
Henniker  had  not  earned  his  confidence  in 
this  or  any  other  respect  where  his  girls 
were  concerned.  Till  Meta  should  come  of 
age,  —  she  was  barely  sixteen,  —  or  until  it 
could  be  known  what  sort  of  a  husband  she 
had  got  in  Henniker,  her  bit  of  money  was 
safest  in  her  guardian's  hands. 

So  the  orders  came,  and  the  transfer  of 
troops  was  made ;  and  now  it  was  the  trum 
peter  of  C  troop  that  sounded  the  calls,  and 
Henniker's  bold  messages  at  guard-mount 
ing  and  his  tender  good-night  at  taps  called 
no  more  across  the  plain.  The  summer 
lilies  were  all  dead  on  the  hills,  and  the 
common  was  white  with  snow.  But  some 
thing  in  Meta's  heart  said,  — 


THE   TRUMPETER  225 

"  '  Weep  no  more  !     Oh,  weep  no  more ! 

Young  buds  sleep  in  the  root's  white  core.'  " 

And  she  dried  her  eyes.  The  mother  was 
very  gentle  with  her ;  and  Callie,  hard-eyed, 
saving  nothing,  watched  her,  and  did  her 
little  cruel  kindnesses,  that  cut  to  the  quick 
of  her  soreness  and  her  pride. 

When  the  Bannock  brethren  came,  late 
in  September,  the  next  year,  she  walked  the 
•sagebrush  paths  to  their  encampment  with 
her  young  son  in  her  arms.  They  looked 
at  the  boy  and  said  that  it  was  good ;  but 
when  they  asked  after  the  father,  and  Meta 
told  them  that  he  had  gone  with  his  troop 
to  Fort  Custer,  and  that  she  waited  for  word 
to  join  him,  they  said  it  was  not  good,  and 
they  turned  away  their  eyes  in  silence  from 
her  shame.  The  men  did,  but  the  women 
looked  at  her  in  a  silence  that  said  different 
things.  Her  heart  went  out  to  them,  and 
their  dumb  soft  glances  brought  healing 
to  her  wounds.  What  sorrow,  what  humili 
ation,  was  hers  that  they  from  all  time  had 
not  known  ?  The  men  took  little  notice  of 
her  after  that :  she  had  lost  caste  both  as 
maid  and  wife;  she  was  nothing  now  but 
a  means  of  existence  to  her  son.  But  be- 


226  THE    TRUMPETER 

tween  her  and  her  dark  sisters  the  natural 
bond  grew  strong.  Old  lessons  that  had 
lain  dormant  in  her  blood  revived  with  the 
force  of  her  keener  intelligence,  and  sup 
planted  later  teachings  that  were  of  no  use 
now  except  to  make  her  suffer  more. 

It  was  impossible  that  Mother  Meadows 
should  not  resent  the  wrong  and  insult  to  her 
own  child ;  she  felt  it  increasingly  as  she  came 
to  realize  the  girl's  unhappiness.  It  grew 
upon  her,  and  she  could  not  feel  the  same  to 
wards  Meta,  who  kept  herself  more  and  more 
proudly  and  silently  aloof.  She  was  one 
alone  in  the  house,  where  no  one  spoke  of 
the  past  to  reproach  her,  where  nothing  but 
kindness  was  ever  shown.  The  kindness 
was  like  the  hand  of  pardon  held  out  to  her. 
Why  did  they  think  she  wanted  their  for 
giveness  ?  She  was  not  sorry  for  what  she 
had  done.  She  wanted  nothing,  only  Hen- 
niker.  So  she  crept  away  with  her  child 
and  sat  among  the  Bannock  women,  and  was 
at  peace  with  them  whom  she  had  never 
injured ;  who  beheld  her  unhappiness,  but 
did  not  call  it  her  shame. 

When  she  walked  the  paths  across  the 
common,  her  eyes  were  always  on  the  sky- 


THE   TRUMPETER  227 

ward  range  of  hills  that  appeared  to  her 
farther  away  than  ever,  —  beyond  a  wider 
gulf,  now  that  their  tops  were  white,  and 
the  clouds  came  low  enough  to  hide  them. 
Often  yellow  gleams  shot  out  beneath  the 
clouds  and  turned  the  valleys  green.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  Henniker  was  there ;  he 
was  in  the  cold,  bright  north,  and  the  trump 
ets  called  her,  but  she  could  not  go,  for  the 
way  was  very  long.  Such  words  as  these 
she  would  sometimes  whisper  to  her  dark 
sisters  by  the  camp-fire,  and  once  they  said 
to  her,  "  Get  strong  and  go ;  we  will  show 
you  the  way." 

Henniker  was  taking  life  as  it  comes  to 
an  enlisted  man  in  barracks.  He  thought 
of  Meta  many  times,  and  of  his  boy,  very 
tenderly  and  shamefully ;  and  if  he  could 
have  whistled  them  to  him,  or  if  a  wind 
of  luck  could  have  blown  them  thither,  he 
would  have  embraced  them  with  joy,  and 
shared  with  them  all  that  he  had.  There 
was  the  difficulty.  He  had  so  little  besides 
the  very  well  fitting  clothes  on  his  back. 
His  pay  seemed  to  melt  away,  month  by 
month,  and  where  it  went  to  the  mischief 


228  THE    TRUMPETER 

only  knew.  Canteen  got  a  good  deal  of  it. 
Henniker  was  one  of  the  popular  men  in 
barracks,  with  his  physical  expertness,  his 
piping  and  singing  and  story  -  telling,  and 
his  high  good  humor  at  all  times  with  him 
self  and  everybody  else.  He  did  not  drink 
much,  except  in  the  way  of  comradeship, 
but  he  did  a  good  deal  of  that.  He  was 
a  model  trumpeter,  and  a  very  ornamental 
fellow  when  he  rode  behind  his  captain  on 
full-dress  inspection,  more  bedight  than  the 
captain  himself  with  gold  cords  and  tags  and 
bullion ;  but  he  was  not  a  domestic  man, 
and  the  only  person  in  the  world  who  might 
perhaps  have  made  him  one  was  a  very 
helpless,  ignorant  little  person,  and  —  she 
was  not  there. 

It  was  a  bad  season  for  selling  ponies. 
The  Indians  had  arrived  late  with  a  larger 
band  than  usual,  which  partly  represented 
an  unwise  investment  they  had  made  on  the 
strength  of  their  good  fortune  the  year 
before.  Certain  big  ditch  enterprises  had 
been  starting  then,  creating  a  brisk  demand 
for  horses  at  prices  unusual,  especially  in 
the  latter  end  of  summer.  This  year  the 
big  ditch  had  closed  down,  and  was  selling 


THE    TRUMPETER  229 

its  own  horses,  or  turning  them  out  upon 
the  range,  and  unbroken  Indian  ponies 
could  hardly  be  given  away. 

The  disappointment  of  the  Bannocks  was 
very  great,  and  their  comprehension  of 
causes  very  slow.  It  took  some  time  for 
them  to  satisfy  themselves  that  Father 
Meadows  was  telling  them  a  straight  tale. 
It  took  still  more  time  for  consultations 
as  to  what  should  now  be  done  with  their 
unsalable  stock.  The  middle  of  October 
was  near,  and  the  grumbling  chiefs  finally 
decided  to  accept  their  loss  and  go  hunting. 
The  squaws  and  children  were  ordered 
home  to  the  Eeservation  by  rail,  as  wards 
of  the  nation  travel,  to  get  permission  of 
the  agent  for  the  hunt,  and  the  men,  with 
ponies,  were  to  ride  overland  and  meet  the 
women  at  Eagle  Rock. 

Thus  Meta  learned  how  an  Indian  woman 
may  pass  unchallenged  from  one  part  of  the 
country  to  another,  clothed  in  the  freedom 
of  her  poverty.  In  this  way  the  nation 
acknowledges  a  part  of  its  ancient  indebt 
edness  to  her  people.  No  word  had  come 
from  Henniker,  though  he  had  said  that  he 
should  get  his  discharge  in  October.  Meta's 


230  THE    TRUMPETER 

resolve  was  taken.  The  Bannock  women 
encouraged  her,  and  she  saw  how  "simple  it 
would  be  to  copy  their  dress  and  slip  away 
with  them  as  far  as  their  roads  lay  together ; 
and  thence,  having  gained  practice  in  her 
part  and  become  accustomed  to  its  dis 
guises,  to  go  on  alone  to  Ouster,  where  her 
chief,  her  beautiful  trumpeter,  was  sound 
ing  his  last  calls.  She  was  wise  in  this 
resolution  —  to  see  her  husband,  at  whatever 
cost,  before  the  time  of  his  freedom  should 
come  ;  but  she  was  late  in  carrying  it  out. 

Long  before,  she  had  turned  over  fruit 
lessly  in  her  mind  every  means  of  getting 
money  for  this  journey  besides  the  obvious 
way  of  asking  Father  Meadows  for  her  own. 
She  had  guessed  that  her  friends  were  sus 
picious  of  Henniker's  good  faith,  and  be 
lieved  that  if  they  should  come  -to  know  of 
her  intention  of  running  away  to  follow 
him  they  would  prevent  her  for  her  own 
good,  —  which  was  quite  the  case. 

That  was  the  point  Father  Meadows 
made  with  his  wife,  when  she  argued  that 
Meta,  being  a  married  woman  now,  ought  to 
learn  the  purchasing  power  of  money  and  its 
limitations  by  experimenting  with  a  little  of 
her  own. 


THE   TRUMPETER  231 

"We  shall  do  wrong  if  we  keep  her  a 
child  now,"  she  said. 

"  But  if  she  has  money,  she  '11  lay  it  by 
till  she  gets  enough  to  slip  off  to  her  soldier 
with.  There 's  that  much  Injun  about  her ; 
she  '11  follow  to  heel  like  a  dog." 

Father  Meadows  could  not  have  spoken 
in  this  way  of  Meta  a  year  ago.  She  had 
lost  caste  with  him,  also. 

"  Don't,  father,"  the  mother  said,  with  a 
hurt  look.  "  She  '11  not  follow  far  with  ten 
dollars  in  her  pocket ;  but  that  much  I  want 
to  try  her  with.  She 's  like  a  child  about 
shopping.  She'll  take  anything  at  all,  if 
it  looks  right  and  the  man  persuades  her. 
And  those  Jew  clerks  will  charge  whatever 
they  think  they  can  get." 

Mrs.  Meadows  had  her  way,  and  the  trial 
sum  was  given  to  Meta  one  day,  and  the 
next  day  she  and  the  child  were  missing. 

At  dusk,  that  evening,  a  group  of  Ban 
nock  squaws,  more  or  less  encumbered  with 
packs,  and  children,  climbed  upon  one  of 
the  flat  cars  of  a  freight  train  bound  for 
Pocatello.  The  engine  steamed  out  of  the 
station,  and  down  the  valley,  and  away  upon 
the  autumn  plains.  The  next  morning  the 


232  THE    TRUMPETER 

Bannocks  broke  camp,  and  vanished  before 
the  hoar  frost  had  melted  from  the  sage. 
Their  leave-taking  had  been  sullen,  and 
their  answers  to  questions  about  Meta,  with 
which  Father  Meadows  had  routed  them  out 
in  the  night,  had  been  so  unsatisfactory  that 
he  took  the  first  train  to  the  Fort  Hall 
Agency.  There  he  waited  for  the  party  of 
squaws  from  Bisuka ;  but  when  they  came, 
Meta  was  not  with  them.  They  knew 
nothing  of  her,  they  said;  even  the  agent 
was  deceived  by  their  counterfeit  ignorance. 
They  could  tell  nothing,  and  were  allowed  to 
join  their  men  at  Eagle  Rock,  to  go  hunt 
ing  into  the  wild  country  around  Jackson's 
Hole. 

Father  Meadows  went  back  and  relieved 
his  wife's  worst  fear,  —  that  the  girl  had 
fulfilled  the  wrong  half  of  her  destiny,  and 
gone  back  to  hide  her  grief  in  the  bosom  of 
her  tribe. 

"  Then  you  '11  find  her  at  Ouster,"  said 
she.  "  You  must  write  to  the  quarter 
master  -  sergeant.  And  be  sure  you  tell 
him  she 's  married  to  him.  He  may  be 
carrying  on  with  some  one  else  by  this 
time." 


THE   TRUMPETER  233 

Traveling  as  a  ward  of  the  nation  travels ; 
suffering  as  a  white  girl  would  suffer,  from 
exposure  and  squalor,  weariness  and  dirt, 
but  bearing  her  misery  like  a  squaw,  Meta 
came  at  last  to  Custer  station.  In  five 
days,  always  on  the  outside  of  comforts  that 
other  travelers  pay  for,  she  had  passed  from 
the  lingering  mildness  of  autumn  in  southern 
Idaho  into  the  early  winter  of  the  hard 
Montana  north. 

She  was  fit  only  for  a  sick-bed  when  she 
came  into  the  empty  station  at  Custer, 
and  learned  that  she  was  still  thirty  miles 
away  from  the  fort.  In  her  make-believe 
broken  English,  she  asked  a  humble  question 
about  transportation.  The  station-keeper 
was  called  away  that  moment  by  a  sum 
mons  from  the  wire.  It  was  while  she  stood 
listening  to  the  tapping  of  the  message,  and 
waiting  to  repeat  her  question,  that  she  felt 
a  frightening  pain,  sharp,  like  a  knife  stick 
ing  in  her  breast.  She  could  take  only 
short  breaths,  yet  longed  for  deep  ones  to 
brace  her  lungs  and  strengthen  her  sick 
heart.  She  stepped  outside  and  spoke  to  a 
man  who  was  wheeling  freight  down  the 
platform.  She  dared  not  throw  off  her 


234  THE   TRUMPETER 

fated  disguise  and  say,  "  I  am  the  wife  of 
Trumpeter  Henniker.  How  shall  I  get  to 
the  fort?"  for  she  had  stolen  a  ride  of  a 
thousand  miles,  and  she  knew  not  what  the 
penalty  of  discovery  might  be.  She  had 
borrowed  a  squaw's  wretched  immunity,  and 
she  must  pay  the  price  for  that  which  she 
had  rashly  coveted.  She  pulled  her  blanket 
about  her  face  and  muttered,  "Which  way 
-Fort  Ouster?" 

The  freight  man  answered  by  pointing  to 
the  road.  Dark  wind  clouds  rolled  along 
the  snow-white  tops  of  the  mountains.  The 
plain  was  a  howling  sea  of  dust. 

"  No  stage  ?  "  she  gasped. 

The  man  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 
"  There  's  the  road.  Injuns  walk."  He 
went  on  with  his  baggage-truck,  and  did  not 
look  at  her  again.  He  had  not  spoken 
unkindly:  the  fact  and  his  blunt  way  of 
putting  it  were  equally  a  matter  of  course, 
Squaws  who  "  beat "  their  way  in  on  freight 
trains  do  not  go  out  by  stage. 

Meta  crept  away  in  the  lee  of  a  pile  of 
freight,  and  sat  down  to  nurse  her  child. 
The  infant,  like  herself,  had  taken  harm 
from  exposure  to  the  cold ;  his  head  pas- 


THE   TRUMPETER  235 

sages  were  stopped,  and  when  he  tried  to 
nurse  he  had  to  fight  with  suffocation  and 
hunger  both,  and  threw  himself  back  in  the 
visible  act  of  screaming,  but  his  hoarse  little 
pipe  was  muted  to  a  squeak.  This,  which 
sounds  grotesque  in  the  telling,  was  acute 
anguish  for  the  mother  to  see.  She  covered 
her  face  with  her  blanket  and  sobbed  and 
coughed,  and  the  pain  tore  her  like  a  knife. 
But  she  rose,  and  began  her  journey.  She 
had  little  conception  of  what  she  was  under 
taking,  but  it  would  have  made  no  differ 
ence  ;  she  must  get  there0  on  her  feet,  since 
there  was  no  other  way. 

She  no  longer  carried  her  baby  squaw 
fashion.  She  was  out  of  sight  of  the  sta 
tion,  and  she  hugged  it  where  the  burden 
lay  heaviest,  on  her  heart.  Her  hands  were 
not  free,  but  she  had  cast  away  her  bundle 
of  food ;  she  could  eat  no  more ;  and  the 
warmth  of  the  child's  nestling  body  gave  her 
all  the  strength  she  had,  —  that  and  her 
certainty  of  Henniker's  welcome.  That  he 
would  be  faithful  to  her  presence  she  never 
doubted.  He  would  see  her  coming,  per 
haps,  and  he  would  run  to  catch  her  and  the 
child  together  in  his  arms.  She  could  feel 


236  THE   TRUMPETER 

the  thrill  of  his  eyes  upon  her,  and  the  half 
groan  of  joy  with  which  he  would  strain  her 
to  his  breast.  Then  she  would  take  one 
deep,  deep  breath  of  happiness,  —  ah,  that 
pain  !  —  and  let  the  anguish  of  it  kill  her  if 
it  must. 

The  snows  on  the  mountains  had  come 
down  and  encompassed  the  whole  plain ; 
the  winter's  siege  had  begun.  The  winds 
were  iced  to  the  teeth,  and  they  smote  like 
armed  men.  They  encountered  Meta  car 
rying  some  hidden,  precious  thing  to  the 
garrison  at  Ouster ;  they  seized  her  and 
searched  her  rudely,  and  left  her,  trembling 
and  disheveled,  sobbing  along  with  her  silly 
treasure  in  her  arms.  The  dust  rose  in 
columns,  and  traveled  with  mocking  becks 
and  bows  before  her,  or  burst  like  a  bomb 
in  her  face,  or  circled  about  her  like  a  band 
of  wild  horses  lashed  by  the  hooting  winds. 

Meantime,  Henniker,  in  span-new  civil 
ian  dress,  was  rattling  across  the  plain  on 
the  box  seat  of  the  ambulance,  beside  the 
soldier  driver.  The  ambulance  was  late  to 
catch  the  east-bound  train,  and  the  pay 
master  was  inside  ;  so  the  four  stout  mules 
laid  back  their  ears  and  traveled,  and  the 


THE    TRUMPETER  237 

heavy  wheels  bounded  from  stone  to  stone 
of  the  dust-buried  road.  Henniker  smoked 
hard  in  silence,  and  drew  great  breaths  of 
cold  air  into  his  splendid  lungs.  He  was 
warm  and  clean  and  sound  and  fit,  from  top 
to  toe.  He  had  been  drinking  bounteous 
farewells  to  a  dozen  good  comrades,  and 
though  sufficiently  himself  for  all  ordinary 
purposes,  he  was  not  that  self  he  would  have 
wished  to  be  had  he  known  that  one  of  the 
test  moments  of  his  life  was  before  him.  It 
was  a  mood  with  him  of  headlong,  treacher 
ous  quiet,  and  the  devil  of  all  foolish  desires 
was  showing  him  the  pleasures  of  the  world. 
He  was  in  dangerously  good  health ;  he  had 
got  his  discharge,  and  was  off  duty  and  off 
guard,  all  at  once.  He  was  a  free  man, 
though  married.  He  was  going  to  his  wife, 
of  course.  Poor  little  Meta !  God  bless 
the  girl,  how  she  loved  him !  Ah,  those 
black-eyed  girls,  with  narrow  temples  and 
sallow,  deep-fringed  eyelids,  they  knew  how 
to  love  a  man !  He  was  going  to  her  by 
way  of  Laramie,  or  perhaps  the  coast.  He 
might  run  upon  a  good  thing  over  there,  and 
start  a  bit  of  a  home  before  he  sent  for  her 
or  went  to  fetch  her ;  it  was  all  one.  She 


238  THE    TRUMPETER 

rested  lightly  on  his  mind,  and  he  thought 
of  her  with  a  tender,  reminiscent  sadness,  — 
rather  a  curious  feeling  considering  that  he 
was  to  see  her  now  so  soon.  Why  was  she 
always  "  poor  little  Meta  "  in  his  thoughts  ? 

Poor  little  Meta  was  toiling  on,  for  "  In 
juns  walk."  The  dreadful  pain  of  coughing 
was  incessant.  The  dust  blinded  and  choked 
her,  and  there  was  a  roaring  in  her  ears  which 
she  confused  with  the  night  and  day  burden 
of  the  trains.  She  was  in  a  burning  fever 
that  was  fever  and  chill  in  one,  and  her 
mind  was  not  clear,  except  on  the  point  of 
keeping  on ;  for  once  down,  she  felt  that  she 
could  never  get  up  again.  At  times  she  fan 
cied  she  was  clinging  to  the  rocking,  roaring 
platforms  she  had  ridden  on  so  long.  The 
dust  swirled  around  her  —  when  had  she 
breathed  anything  but  dust !  The  ground 
swam  like  water  under  her  feet.  She  swayed, 
and  seemed  to  be  falling,  —  perhaps  she  did 
fall.  But  she  was  up  and  on  her  feet,  the 
blanket  cast  from  her  head,  when  the  ambu 
lance  drove  straight  towards  her,  and  she 
saw  him  — 

She  had  seen  it  coming,  the  ambulance, 
down  the  long,  dizzy  rise.  The  hills  above 


THE   TRUMPETER  239 

were  white  as  death ;  a  crooked  gash  of 
color  rent  the  sky ;  the  toothed  pines  stood 
black  against  that  gleam,  and  through  the 
ringing  in  her  ears,  loud  and  sweet,  she 
heard  the  trumpets  call.  The  cloud  of  de 
lirium  lifted,  and  she  saw  the  uniform  she 
loved  ;  and  beside  the  soldier  driver  sat  her 
white  chief,  looking  down  at  her  who  came 
so  late  with  joy,  bringing  her  babe,  —  her 
sheaves,  the  harvest  of  that  year's  wild  sow 
ing.  But  he  did  not  seem  to  see  her.  She 
had  not  the  power  to  speak  or  cry.  She 
took  one  step  forward  and  held  up  the  child. 

Then  she  fell  down  on  her  face  in  the 
road,  for  the  beloved  one  had  seen  her,  and 
had  not  known  her,  and  had  passed  her  by. 
And  God  would  not  let  her  make  one  sound. 

How  in  Heaven's  name  could,,  it  have  hap 
pened  !  Could  any  man  believe  it  of  him 
self  ?  Henniker  put  it  to  his  reason,  not  to 
speak  of  conscience  or  affection,  and  never 
could  explain,  even  to  himself,  that  most  un 
happy  moment  of  his  life.  If  he  had  not  a 
heart  for  any  helpless  thing  in  trouble,  who 
had  ?  He  was  the  joke  of  the  garrison  for 
his  softness  about  dogs  and  women  and  chil 
dren.  Yet  he  had  met  his  wife  and  baby  on 


240  THE    TRUMPETER 

the  open  road,  and  passed  them  by,  and 
owned  them  not,  and  still  he  called  himself 
a  man. 

What  he  had  seen  at  first  had  been  the 
abject  figure  of  a  little  squaw  facing  the 
wind,  her  bowed  head  shrouded  in  her 
blanket,  carrying  something  which  her  short 
arms  could  barely  meet  around,  —  a  shape 
less  bundle.  He  did  not  think  it  a  child, 
for  a  squaw  will  pack  her  baby  always  on 
her  back.  He  had  looked  at  her  indiffer 
ently,  but  with  condescending  pity ;  for  the 
day  was  rough,  and  the  road  was  long,  even 
for  a  squaw.  Then,  in  all  the  disfigurement 
of  her  dirt  and  wretchedness  and  wild  attire, 
it  broke  upon  him  that  this  creature  was  his 
wife,  the  rightful  sharer  of  his  life  and  free 
dom  ;  and  that  animal-like  thing  she  held  up, 
that  wrung  its  face  and  squeaked  like  a 
blind  kitten,  was  his  son. 

Good  God  !  He  clutched  the  driver's 
arm,  and  the  man  swore  and  jerked  his 
mules  out  of  the  road,  for  the  woman  had 
stopped  right  in  the  track  where  the  wheels 
were  going.  The  driver  looked  back,  but 
could  not  see  her ;  he  knew  that  he  had  not 
touched  her,  only  with  the  wind  of  his  pace, 


THE    TRUMPETER 

so  he  pulled  the  mules  into  the  road  again, 
and  the  ambulance  rolled  on. 

"  Stop  ;  let  me  get  off.  That  woman  is 
my  wife."  Henniker  heard  himself  saying 
the  words,  but  they  were  never  spoken  to 
the  ear.  "  Stop  ;  let  me  get  down,"  the  in 
ner  voice  prompted;  but  he  did  not  make 
a  sound,  and  the  curtains  flapped  and  the 
wheels  went  bounding  along.  They  were  a 
long  way  past  the  spot,  and  the  station  was 
in  sight,  when  Henniker  was  heard  to  say 
hoarsely,  "  Pick  her  up,  as  you  go  back,  can't 
you?" 

"  Pick  up  which  ?  "  asked  the  driver. 

"  The  —  that  woman  we  passed  just  now." 

"  I  '11  see  how  she  's  making  it,"  the  man 
answered  coolly.  "  I  ain't  much  stuck  on 
squaws.  Acted  like  she  was  drunk  or 
crazy." 

Henniker's  face  flushed,  but  he  shuddered 
as  if  he  were  cold. 

"  Pick  her  up,  for  the  child's  sake,  by 
God !  "  No  man  was  ever  more  ashamed  of 
himself  than  he  as  he  took  out  a  gold  piece 
and  handed  it  to  the  soldier.  "  Give  her 
this,  Billy, — from  yourself,  you  know.  I 
ain't  in  it." 


242  THE    TRUMPETER 

Billy  looked  at  Henniker,  and  then  at  the 
gold  piece.  It  was  a  double  eagle  ;  all  that 
the  husband  had  dared  to  offer  as  alms  to 
his  wife,  but  more  than  enough  to  arouse 
the  suspicions  that  he  feared. 

"  Ain't  in  it,  eh  ? "  thought  the  soldier. 
"  You  knew  the  woman,  and  she  knew  you. 
This  is  conscience  money."  But  aloud  he 
said,  "  A  fool  and  his  money  are  soon 
parted.  How  do  you  know  but  I  '11  blow  it 
in  at  canteen  ?  " 

"  I  '11  trust  you,"  said  Henniker. 

The  men  did  not  speak  to  each  other 
again. 

"  She  's  one  of  them  Bannocks  that 
camped  by  old  Pop  Meadows's  place,  down 
at  Bisuka,  I  bet,"  said  the  soldier  to  himself. 

Henniker  went  on  fighting  his  fight  as  if 
it  had  not  been  lost  forever  in  that  instant's 
hesitation.  A  man  cannot  bethink  himself : 
"  By  the  way,  it  strikes  me  that  was  my 
wife  and  child  we  passed  on  the  road ! " 
What  he  had  done  could  never  be  explained 
without  grotesque  lying  which  would  deceive 
nobody. 

It  could  not  be  undone  ;  it  must  be  lived 
down.  Henniker  was  much  better  at  living 


THE   TRUMPETER  243 

things  down  than  he  was  at  explaining  or 
trying  to  mend  them. 

After  all,  it  was  the  girl's  own  fault,  put 
ting  up  that  wretched  squaw  act  on  him. 
To  follow  him  publicly,  and  shame  him 
before  all  the  garrison,  in  that  beastly  Ban 
nock  rig!  Had  she  turned  Bannock  alto 
gether  and  gone  back  to  the  tribe  ?  In  that 
case  let  the  tribe  look  after  her ;  he  could 
have  no  more  to  do  with  her,  of  course. 

He  stepped  into  the  smoking-car,  and  lost 
himself  as  quickly  as  possible  in  the  interest 
of  new  faces  around  him,  and  the  agreeable 
impressions  of  himself  which  he  read  in  eyes 
that  glanced  and  returned  for  another  look 
at  so  much  magnificent  health  and  color  and 
virility.  His  spot  of  turpitude  did  not  show 
through.  He  was  still  good  to  look  at ;  and 
to  look  the  man  that  one  would  be  goes  a 
long  way  toward  feeling  that  one  is  that 
man. 

II 

It  was  at  Laramie,  between  the  moun 
tains,  and  Henniker  was  celebrating  the 
present  and  drowning  the  past  in  a  large, 
untrammeled  style,  when  he  received  a  letter 
from  the  quartermaster-sergeant  at  Custer, 


244  THE    TRUMPETER 

—  a  plain   statement  until  the  end,  where 
Henniker  read :  — 

"  If  you  should  happen  at  any  time  to 
wish  for  news  of  your  son,  Meadows  and  his 
wife  have  taken  the  child.  They  came  on 
here  to  get  him,  and  Meadows  insisted  on 
standing  the  expense  of  the  funeral,  which 
was  the  best  we  could  give  her  for  the  credit 
of  the  troop.  He  put  a  handsome  stone 
over  her,  with  '  Meta,  wife  of  Trumpeter 
Henniker,  K  Troop,  — th  U.  S.  Cavalry,' 
on  it ;  and  there  it  stands  to  her  memory, 
poor  girl,  and  to  your  shame,  a  false,  cruel, 
and  cowardly  man  in  the  way  you  treated 
her.  And  so  every  one  of  us  calls  you,  offi 
cers  and  men  the  same,  —  of  your  old  troop 
that  walked  behind  her  to  her  grave.  And 
where  were  you,  Henniker,  and  what  were 
you  doing  this  day  two  weeks,  when  we  were 
burying  your  poor  wife  ?  The  twenty  dol 
lars  you  sent  her  by  Billy,  Meadows  has,  and 
says  he  will  keep  it  till  he  sees  you  again. 
Which  some  of  us  think  it  will  be  a  good 
while  he  will  be  packing  that  Judas  piece 
around  with  him.  —  And  so  good-by,  Hen 
niker.  I  might  have  said  less,  or  I  might 
have  said  nothing  at  all,  but  that  the  boy  is 


THE    TRUMPETER  245 

a  fine  child,  my  wife  says,  and  must  have 
a  grand  constitution  to  stand  what  he  has 
stood ;  and  I  have  a  fondness  for  you  my 
self  when  all  is  said  and  done. 

"  P.  S.  I  would  take  a  thought  for  that 
boy  once  in  a  while,  if  I  was  you.  A  man 
does  n't  care  for  the  brats  when  he  is  young, 
but  age  cures  us  of  all  wants  but  the  want 
of  a  child." 

But  Henniker  was  not  ready  to  go  back 
to  the  Meadows  cottage  and  be  clothed  in 
the  robe  of  forgiveness,  and  receive  his  babe 
like  a  pledge  of  penitence  on  his  hand. 

The  shock  of  the  letter  sobered  him  at 
first,  and  then  the  sting  of  it  drove  him  to 
drinking  harder  than  ever.  He  did  not  run 
upon  that  "  good  thing  "  at  Laramie,  nor  in 
any  of  the  cities  westward  that  one  after 
another  beheld  the  progress  of  his  deteriora 
tion.  It  does  not  take  long  in  the  telling, 
but  it  was  several  years  before  he  finally 
struck  upon  the  "Barbary  Coast"  in  San 
Francisco,  where  so  many  mothers'  sons  who 
never  were  heard  of  have  gone  down.  He 
went  ashore,  but  he  did  not  quite  go  to 
pieces.  His  constitution  had  matured  under 
healthy  conditions,  and  could  stand  a  good 


246  THE    TRUMPETER 

deal  of  ill-usage ;  but  we  are  "  no  stronger 
than  our  weakest  part,"  and  at  the  end  of 
all  he  found  himself  in  a  hospital  bed  under 
treatment  for  his  knee,  —  the  same  that 
had  been  mulcted  for  him  twice  before. 

He  listened  grimly  to  the  doctor's  expla 
nations,  —  how  the  past  sins  of  his  whole 
impenitent  system  were  being  vicariously 
reckoned  for  through  this  one  afflicted  mem 
ber.  It  was  rough  on  his  old  knee,  Henni- 
ker  remarked ;  but  he  had  hopes  of  getting 
out  all  right  again,  and  he  made  the  usual 
sick-bed  promises  to  himself.  He  did  get 
out,  eventually,  without  a  penny  in  the 
world,  and  with  a  stiff  knee  to  drag  about 
for  the  rest  of  his  life.  And  he  was  just 
thirty-four  years  old. 

His  splendid  vitality,  that  had  been  wont 
to  express  itself  in  so  many  attractive  ways, 
now  found  its  chief  vent  in  talk  —  inex 
pensive,  inordinate,  meddlesome  discourse  — 
wherever  two  or  three  were  gathered  together 
in  the  name  of  idleness  and  discontent. 
The  members  of  these  congregations  were 
pessimists  to  a  man.  They  disbelieved  in 
everybody  and  everything  except  themselves, 
and  secretly,  at  times,  they  were  even  a  little 


THE   TRUMPETER  247 

shaken  on  that  head ;  but  all  the  louder 
they  exclaimed  upon  the  world  that  had 
refused  them  the  chance  to  be  the  great  and 
successful  characters  nature  had  intended 
them  to  be. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  when  Henni- 
ker  raved  about  the  inequalities  of  class,  the 
helplessness  of  poverty,  the  tyranny  of  wealth, 
and  the  curse  of  labor  ;  and  devoted  in  elo 
quent  phrases  the  remainder  of  a  blighted 
existence  to  the  cause  of  the  Poor  Man, 
he  was  thinking  of  but  one  poor  man,  namely, 
himself.  He  classed  himself  with  Labor  only 
that  he  might  feel  his  superiority  to  the 
laboring  masses.  There  were  few  situations 
in  which  he  could  taste  his  superiority,  in 
these  days.  The  "  ego  "  in  his  Cosmos  was 
very  hungry  ;  his  memories  were  bitter,  his 
hopes  unsatisfied ;  his  vanity  and  artistic 
sense  were  crucified  through  poverty,  lame 
ness,  and  bad  clothes.  Now  all  that  was 
left  him  was  the  conquests  of  the  mind. 
For  the  smiles  of  women,  give  him  the 
hoarse  plaudits  of  men.  The  dandy  of  the 
garrison  began  to  shine  in  saloon  coteries 
and  primaries  of  the  most  primary  order. 
He  was  the  star  of  sidewalk  convocations 


248  THE    TRUMPETER 

and  vacant-lot  meetings  of  the  Unemployed. 
But  he  despised  the  mob  that  echoed  his 
perorations  and  paid  for  his  drinks,  and  was 
at  heart  the  aristocrat  that  his  old  uniform 
had  made  him. 

In  the  summer  of  1894,  a  little  black-eyed 
boy  with  chestnut  curls  used  to  swing  on 
the  gate  of  the  Meadows  cottage  that  opens 
upon  the  common,  and  chant  some  verses  of 
domestic  doggerel  about  Coxey's  army,  which 
was  then  begging  and  bullying  its  way  east 
ward,  and  demanding  transportation  at  the 
expense  of  the  railroads  and  of  the  people  at 
large. 

He  sang  his  song  to  the  well-marked  tune 
of  Pharaoh's  Army,  and  thus  the  verses 
ran :  — 

"  The  Coxeyites  they  gathered, 
The  Coxeyites  they  gathered, 
And  stole  a  train  of  freight-cars  in  the  morn, 
And  stole  a  train  of  freight-cars  in  the  morning, 
And  stole  a  train  of  f  reight-cars  in  the  morn. 

"  The  engine  left  them  standing, 
The  engine  left  them  standing, 
On  the  railroad-track  at  Caldwell  in  the  morn. 
Very  sad  it  was  for  Caldwell  in  the  morning 
To  feed  that  hungry  army  in  the  morn. 


THE    TRUMPETER  249 

"  Where  are  all  the  U.  S.  marshals, 

The  deputy  U.  S.  marshals, 
To  jail  that  Coxey  army  in  the  morn, 
That  '  industrious,  law-abiding  '  Coxey's  army 
That  stole  a  train  of  freight-cars  in  the  morn  ?  " 

Where  indeed  were  all  the  U.  S.  mar 
shals  ?  The  question  was  being  asked  with 
anxiety  in  the  town,  for  a  posse  of  them 
had  gone  down  to  arrest  the  defiant  train- 
stealers,  and  it  was  rumored  that  the  civil 
arm  had  been  disarmed,  and  the  deputies 
carried  on  as  prisoners  to  Pocatello,  where 
the  Industrials,  two  hundred  strong,  were 
intrenched  in  the  sympathies  of  the  town, 
and  knocking  the  federal  authorities  about 
at  their  law-abiding  pleasure.  Pocatello  is 
a  division  town  on  the  Union  Pacific  Rail 
road  ;  it  is  full  of  the  company's  shops  and 
men,  the  latter  all  in  the  American  Railway 
Union  or  the  Knights  of  Labor,  and  solid  on 
class  issues,  right  or  wrong ;  and  it  was  said 
that  the  master  workman  was  expected  at 
Pocatello  to  speak  on  the  situation,  and,  if 
need  arose,  to  call  out  the  trades  all  over 
the  land  in  support  of  the  principle  that 
tramp  delegations  shall  not  walk.  Disquiet 
ing  rumors  were  abroad,  and  there  was 
relief  in  the  news  that  the  regulars  had  been 


250  THE   TRUMPETER 

called  on  to  sustain  the  action  of  the  federal 
court. 

The  troops  at  Bisuka  barracks  were  un 
der  marching  orders.  While  the  town  was 
alert  to  hear  them  go  they  tramped  away 
one  evening,  just  as  a  shower  was  clearing 
that  had  emptied  the  streets  of  citizens ;  and 
before  the  ladies  could  say  "  There  they  go," 
and  call  each  other  to  the  window,  they  were 
gone. 

Then  for  a  few  days  the  remote  little  cap 
ital,  with  Coxeyites  gathering  and  threat 
ening  its  mails  and  railroad  service,  waited 
in  apprehensive  curiosity  as  to  what  was  go 
ing  to  happen  next.  The  party  press  on 
both  sides  seized  the  occasion  to  point  a 
moral  on  their  own  account,  and  some  said, 
"  Behold  the  logic  of  McKinleyism,"  and 
others  retorted,  "Behold  the  shadow  of  the 
Wilson  Bill  stalking  abroad  over  the  land. 
Let  us  fall  on  our  faces  and  pray !  "  But 
most  people  laughed  instead,  and  patted 
the  Coxeyites  on  the  back,  preferring  their 
backs  to  their  faces. 

It  seemed  as  if  it  might  be  time  to  stop 
laughing  and  gibing  and  inviting  the  pro 
cession  to  move  on,  when  a  thousand  or 


THE   TRUMPETER  251 

more  men,  calling  themselves  .American  cit 
izens,  were  parading  their  idleness  through 
the  land  as  authority  for  lawlessness  and 
crime,  and  when  our  sober  regulars  had  to  be 
called  out  to  quell  a  Falstaff's  army.  The 
regulars,  be  sure,  did  not  enjoy  it.  If  there 
is  a  sort  of  service  our  soldiers  would  like  to 
be  spared,  doubtless  it  is  disarming  crazy 
Indians :  but  they  prefer  even  that  to  stand 
ing  up  to  be  stoned  and  insulted  and  chunked 
with  railroad  iron  by  a  mob  which  they  are 
ordered  not  to  fire  upon,  or  to  entering 
a  peaceful  country  which  has  been  sown 
with  dynamite  by  patriotic  labor  unions,  or 
prepared  with  cut -bridges  by  sympathetic 
strikers. 

We  are  here  to  be  hurt,  so  the  strong  ones 
tell  us,  and  perhaps  the  best  apology  the 
strong  can  make  to  the  weak  for  the  vast 
superiority  that  training  gives  is  to  show 
how  long  they  can  hold  their  fire  amidst  a 
mob  of  brute  ignorances,  and  how  much  bet 
ter  they  can  bear  their  hurts  when  the  sense 
less  missiles  fly.  We  love  the  forbearance 
of  our  "  unpitied  strong ;  "  it  is  what  we  ex 
pect  of  them :  but  we  trust  also  in  their  firm 
ness  when  the  time  for  forbearance  is  past. 


252  THE    TRUMPETER 

Little  Ross  Henniker  —  named  for  that 
mythical  great  Scotchman,  his  supposed 
grandfather  —  was  deeply  disappointed  be 
cause  he  did  not  see  the  soldiers  go.  To 
have  lived  next  door  to  them  all  his  life, 
seven  whole  years,  and  watched  them  prac 
ticing  and  preparing  to  be  fit  and  ready  to 
go,  and  then  not  to  see  them  when  they  did 
march  away  for  actual  service  in  the  field, 
was  hard  indeed. 

Ross  was  not  only  one  of  those  brightest 
boys  of  his  age  known  to  parents  and  grand 
parents  by  the  million,  but  he  was  really  a 
very  bright  and  handsome  child.  If  Mother 
Meadows,  now  "  granny,"  had  ever  had  any 
doubts  at  all  about  the  Scottish  chief  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company,  the  style  and  pres 
ence  of  that  incomparable  boy  were  proof 
enough.  It  was  a  marked  case  of  "  throw- 
ing-back."  There  was  none  of  the  Bannock 
here.  Could  he  not  be  trusted  like  a  man  to 
do  whatever  things  he  liked  to  do ;  as  riding 
to  fetch  the  cows  and  driving  them  hillward 
again,  on  the  weird  little  spotted  pony,  hardly 
bigger  than  a  dog,  with  a  huge  head  and  a 
furry  cheek  and  a  hanging  under-lip,  which 
the  tributary  Bannocks  had  brought  him? 


THE   TRUMPETER  253 

It  was  while  he  was  on  cow-duty  far  away, 
but  not  out  of  sight  of  the  post,  that  he  saw 
the  column  move.  "  Great  Scott !  "  how  he 
did  ride !  He  broke  his  stick  over  the  pony's 
back,  and  kicked  him  with  his  bare  heels, 
and  slapped  him  with  his  hat,  till  the  pony 
bucked  him  off  into  a  sagebush  whence  he 
picked  himself  up  and  flew  as  fast  as  his  own 
legs  would  spin ;  but  he  was  too  late.  Then, 
for  the  first  time  in  six  months  at  least,  he 
howled.  Aunt  Callie  comforted  him  with 
fresh  strawberry  jam  for  supper,  but  the 
lump  of  grief  remained,  until,  as  she  was 
washing  the  dishes,  she  glanced  at  him, 
laughing  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  and 
began  to  make  up  the  song  about  Coxey's 
army.  For  some  time  Ross  refused  to  smile, 
but  when  it  came  to  the  chorus  about  the  sol 
diers  who  were  going 

"  To  turn  back  Coxey's  army,  hallelujah  I 
To  turn  back  Coxey's  army,  lialleloo  ! " 

he  began  to  sing  "  hallelujah  "  too.  Then 
gun-fire  broke  in  with  a  lonesome  sound,  as 
if  the  cavalry  up  on  the  hill  missed  its  com 
rades  of  the  white  stripes  who  were  gone  to 
"  turn  back  "  that  ridiculous  army. 


254  THE   TRUMPETER 

Mother  Meadows  wished  "  that  man  Coxey 
had  never  been  born,"  so  weary  did  she  get 
of  the  Coxey  song.  Coxeyism  had  taken 
complete  possession  of  the  young  lord  of  the 
house,  now  that  his  friends  the  soldiers  had 
gone  to  take  a  hand  in  the  business. 

In  a  few  days  the  soldiers  came  back  es 
corting  the  Coxey  prisoners.  The  "presence 
of  the  troops  "  had  sufficed.  The  two  hun 
dred  Coxeyites  were  to  be  tried  at  Bisuka 
for  crimes  committed  within  the  State.  They 
were  penned  meanwhile  in  a  field  by  the  river, 
below  the  railroad  track,  and  at  night  they 
were  shut  into  a  rough  barrack  which  had 
been  hastily  put  up  for  the  purpose.  A 
skirt  of  the  town  little  known,  except  to  the 
Chinese  vegetable  gardeners  and  makers  of 
hay  on  the  river  meadows  and  small  boys 
fishing  along  the  shore,  now  became  the  cen 
tre  of  popular  regard ;  and  "  Have  you  been 
down  to  the  Coxey  camp  ?  "  was  as  common 
a  question  as  "Are  you  going  to  the  Nata- 
torium  Saturday  night  ?  "  or  "  Will  there  be 
a  mail  from  the  west  to-day?  " 

One  evening,  Mother  Meadows,  with  little 
Ross  Henniker  by  the  hand,  stood  close  to 
the  dead-line  of  the  Coxey  field,  watching 


THE   TRUMPETER  255 

the  groups  on  the  prisoners'  side.  The  wo 
man  looked  at  them  with  perplexed  pity,  but 
the  child  swung  himself  away  and  cried, 
"  Pooh !  only  a  lot  of  dirty  hobos ! "  and 
turned  to  look  at  the  soldiers. 

The  tents  of  the  guard  of  regulars  stood 
in  a  row  in  front  of  a  rank  of  tall  poplar- 
trees,  their  tops  swinging  slow  hi  the  last 
sunlight.  Behind  the  trees  stretched  the 
green  river  flats  in  the  shadow.  Frogs  were 
croaking ;  voices  of  girls  could  be  heard  in  a 
tennis-court  with  a  high  wall  that  ran  back 
to  the  street  of  the  railroad. 

Roll-call  was  proceeding  in  front  of  the 
tents,  the  men  firing  their  quick,  harsh  an 
swers  like  scattering  shots  along  the  line. 
Under  the  trees  at  a  little  distance  the  beau 
tiful  sleek  cavalry  horses  were  grouped,  un 
saddled  and  calling  for  their  supper.  Ross 
Henniker  gazed  at  them  with  a  look  of  joy ; 
then  he  turned  a  contemptuous  eye  upon  the 
prisoners. 

"Which  of  them  two  kinds  of  animals 
looks  most  like  what  a  man  ought  to  be  ?"  he 
asked,  pointing  to  the  horses  and  then  to  the 
Coxeyites,  who  in  the  cool  of  the  evening  were 
indulging  in  unbeautif  ul  horse-play,  not  with- 


256  THE    TRUMPETER 

out  a  suspicion  of  showing  off  before  the  eyes 
of  visitors.  The  horses  in  their  free  impa 
tience  were  as  unconscious  as  lords. 

"What  are  you  saying,  Ross?"  asked 
Mrs.  Meadows,  rousing  herself. 

"  I  say,  suppose  I  'd  just  come  down  from 
the  moon,  or  some  place  where  they  don't 
know  a  man  from  a  horse,  and  you  said  to 
me :  '  Look  at  these  things,  and  then  look  at 
them  things  over  there,  and  say  which  is 
boss  of  t'  other.'  Why,  I  'd  say  them  things, 
every  time."  Ross  pointed  without  any 
prejudice  to  the  horses. 

"  My  goodness !  "  cried  Mrs.  Meadows, 
"  if  these  Coxeys  had  been  taken  care  of  and 
coddled  all  their  lives  like  them  troop  horses, 
they  might  not  be  so  handsome,  but  they  'd 
look  a  good  deal  better  than  what  they  do. 
And  they  'd  have  more  sense,"  she  added  in 
a  lower  voice.  "  Very  few  poor  men's  sons 
get  the  training  those  horses  have  had. 
They  've  learned  to  mind,  for  one  thing, 
and  to  be  faithful  to  the  hand  that  feeds 
them." 

"  Not  all  of  them  don't,"  said  Ross,  shak 
ing  his  head  wisely.  "  There  's  kickers  and 
biters  and  shirks  amongst  them ;  but  if  they 


THE   TRUMPETER  257 

won't  learn  and  can't  learn,  they  get  '  con 
demned.'  V 

"  And  what  becomes  of  them  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  know,"  answered  the  boy, 
who  began  to  suspect  that  there  was  a 
moral  looming  in  the  distance  of  this  bold 
generalization. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mother  Meadows,  "  I  know 
what  becomes  of  some  of  them,  because  I  Ve 
seen  ;  and  I  don't  think  a  condemned  horse 
looks  much  better  in  the  latter  end  of  him 
than  a  condemned  man." 

"  But  you  can't  leave  them  in  the  troop, 
for  they'd  spoil  all  the  rest,"  objected  the 
boy. 

"  It 's  too  much  for  me,  dear,"  replied  the 
old  woman  humbly.  "  These  Coxeys  are  a 
kind  of  folks  I  don't  understand." 

"  I  should  think  you  might  understand, 
when  the  troops  have  to  go  out  and  run  'em 
hi !  I  'm  on  the  side  of  the  soldiers,  every 
time." 

"  Well,  that 's  simple  enough,"  said  Mrs. 
Meadows.  She  was  a  very  mild  protago 
nist,  for  she  could  never  confine  herself  to 
one  side  of  a  question.  "  I  'm  on  the  side 
of  the  soldiers,  too.  A  soldier  has  to  do 


258  THE    TRUMPETER 

what  he  's  told,  and  pays  with  his  life  for  it, 
right  or  wrong." 

"  And  I  think  it 's  a  shame  to  send  the 
beautiful  clean  soldiers  to  shove  a  lot  of 
dirty  hobos  back  where  they  belong." 

"  My  goodness  !  Hush  !  you  'd  better  talk 
less  till  you  get  more  sense  to  £alk  with," 
said  Mrs.  Meadows  sternly.  A  man  stand 
ing  near,  with  his  back  to  them,  had  turned 
around  quickly,  and  she  saw  by  his  angry 
eye  that  he  had  overheard.  She  looked  at 
him  again,  and  knew  the  man.  It  was  the 
boy's  father.  Ross  had  bounded  away  to 
talk  to  his  friend  Corporal  Niles. 

"  Henniker  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Meadows 
in  a  low  voice  of  shocked  amazement.  "  It 
don't  seem  as  if  this  could  be  you !  " 

"  Let  that  be  !  "  said  Henniker  roughly. 
"  I  didn't  enlist  by  that  name  in  this  army. 
Who's  that  young  son  of  a  gun  that's  got 
so  much  lip  on  him  ?  " 

"  God  help  you !  don't  you  know  your 
own  son?  " 

"  What  ?  No  !  Has  he  got  to  be  that 
size  already  ?  "  The  man's  weather-beaten 
face  turned  a  darker  red  under  the  week-old 
beard  that  disfigured  it.  He  sat  down  on 


THE    TRUMPETER  259 

the  ground,  for  suddenly  he  felt  weak,  and 
also  to  hide  his  lameness  from  the  woman 
who  should  have  hated  him,  but  who  simply 
pitied  him  instead.  Her  face  showed  a  sort 
of  motherly  shame  for  the  change  that  she 
saw  in  him.  It  was  very  hard  to  bear.  He 
had  not  fully  realized  the  change  in  himself 
till  its  effect  upon  her  confronted  him.  He 
tried  to  bluff  it  off  carelessly. 

"  Bring  the  boy  here.  I  have  a  word  to 
say  to  him." 

"  You  should  have  said  it  long  ago,  then." 
Mrs.  Meadows  was  hurt  and  indignant  at 
his  manner.  "  What  has  been  said  is  said, 
for  good  and  all.  It 's  too  late  to  unsay  it 
now." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Mrs. 
Meadows  ?  Am  I  the  boy's  father  or  am  I 
not?" 

"  You  are  not  the  father  he  knows.  Do 
you  think  I  have  been  teaching  him  to  be 
ashamed  of  the  name  he  bears  ?  " 

"Old  lady,"  cried  Henniker  the  Coxeyite, 
"  have  you  been  stuffing  that  boy  about  his 
dad  as  you  did  the  mother  about  hers?" 

"  I  have  told  him  the  truth,  partly.  The 
rest,  if  it  was  n't  the  truth,  it  ought  to  have 


2GO  THE    TRUMPETER 

been,"  answered  Mrs.  Meadows  stoutly. 
"  I  have  put  the  story  right,  as  an  honest 
man  would  have  lived  it.  Whatever  you  've 
been  doing  with  yourself  these  years,  it's 
your  own  affair,  not  the  boy's  nor  mine. 
Keep  it  to  yourself  now.  You  were  too 
good  for  them  once,  —  the  mother  and  the 
child;  they  can  do  without  you  now." 

"  That 's  all  right,"  said  Henniker,  win 
cing  ;  "  but  as  a  matter  of  curiosity  let  me 
hear  how  you  have  put  it  up." 

"  How  I  have  what  ?  " 

"  How  you  have  dressed  up  the  story  to 
the  boy.  I  'd  like  to  see  myself  with  a 
woman's  eyes  once  more." 

Mrs.  Meadows  looked  him  over  and  hesi 
tated  ;  then  her  face  kindled.  "  I  've  told  him 
that  his  father  was  a  beautiful  clean  man," 
she  said,  using  unconsciously  the  boy's 
own  words,  "  and  rode  a  beautiful  horse, 
and  saluted  his  captain  so !  "  She  pointed 
to  the  corporal  of  the  guard  who  was  at  that 
moment  reporting.  "  I  told  him  that  when 
the  troops  went  you  had  to  leave  your  young 
wife  behind  you,  and  she  could  not  be  kept 
from  following  you  with  her  child ;  and  by 
a  cruel  mischance  you  passed  each  other  on 


THE    TRUMPETER  261 

the  road,  and  you  never  knew  till  you  had 
got  to  her  old  home  and  heard  she  was  dead 
and  buried  ;  and  you  were  so  broke  up  that 
you  could  n't  bear  your  life  in  the  place 
where  you  used  to  be  with  her;  and  you 
were  a  sorrowful  wandering  man  that  he 
must  pray  for,  and  ask  God  to  bring  you 
home.  You  never  came  near  us,  Henniker, 
nor  thought  of  coming ;  but  could  I  tell  your 
own  child  that?  Indeed,  I  would  be  afraid 
to  tell  him  what  did  happen  on  that  road 
from  Custer  station,  for  fear  when  he's  a 
man  he  'd  go  hunting  you  with  a  shotgun. 
Now  where  is  the  falsehood  here  ?  Is  it  in 
me,  or  in  you,  who  have  made  it  as  much  as 
your  own  life  is  worth  to  tell  the  truth 
about  you  to  your  son  ?  Was  it  the  truth, 
Henniker?  Sure,  man,  you  did  love  her! 
What  did  you  want  with  her  else?  Was 
it  the  truth  that  they  told  us  at  Custer? 
There  are  times  when  I  can't  believe  it  my 
self.  If  there  is  a  word  you  could  say  for 
yourself,  —  say  it,  for  the  child's  sake  ! 
You  wouldn't  mind  speaking  to  an  old 
woman  like  me  ?  There  was  a  time  when  I 
would  have  been  proud  to  call  you  my  son." 
"  You  are  a  good  woman,  Mrs.  Meadows, 


262  THE    TRUMPETER 

but  I  cannot  lie  to  you,  even  for  the  child's 
sake.  And  it 's  not  that  I  don't  know  how 
to  lie,  for  God  knows  I  'm  nothing  but  a  lie 
this  blessed  minute !  What  do  I  care  for 
such  cattle  as  these  ?  "  He  had  risen,  and 
waved  his  hand  contemptuously  toward  his 
fellow-martyrs.  "Well,  I  must  be  going. 
I  see  they're  passin'  around  the  flesh-pots. 
We  're  livin'  like  fighting-cocks  here,  on  a 
restaurant  contract.  There  '11  be  a  big  deal 
in  it  for  the  marshal,  I  suspect."  Henniker 
winked,  and  his  face  fell  into  the  lowest  of 
its  demoralized  expressions. 

"  There  's  no  such  a  thing !  "  said  Mrs. 
Meadows  indignantly.  "  Some  folks  are 
willing  to  work  for  very  little  these  hard 
times,  and  give  good  value  for  their  money. 
You  had  better  eat  and  be  thankful,  and 
leave  other  folks  alone !  " 

Little  Eoss  coming  up  heard  but  the  last 
words,  and  saw  his  granny's  agitation  and 
the  familiar  attitude  of  the  strange  Coxey- 
ite.  His  quick  temper  flashed  out :  "  Get 
out  with  you!  Go  off  where  you  belong, 
you  dirty  man  !  " 

Mrs.  Meadows  caught  the  boy,  and 
whirled  him  around  and  shook  him. 


THE    TRUMPETER  263 

"  Never,  never  let  me  hear  you  speak  like 
that  to  any  man  again  !  " 

"Why?"  he  demanded. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  why,  some  day,  if  I  have 
to.  Pray  God  I  may  never  need  to  tell 
you!" 

"Why?"  repeated  the  boy,  wondering 
at  her  excitement. 

"  Come  away,  —  come  away  home  !  "  she 
said,  and  Eoss  saw  that  her  eyes  were  red 
with  unshed  tears.  He  hung  behind  her 
and  looked  back. 

"  He 's  lame,"  said  he,  half  to  himself. 
"  I  would  n't  have  spoken  that  way  if  I  'd 
known  he  had  a  game  leg." 

"  Who 's  lame  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Meadows. 

"  The  Coxeyite.     See.     He  limps  bad." 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you !  We  never  know, 
when  we  call  names,  what  sore  spots  we 
may  be  hitting.  You  may  have  sore  spots 
of  your  own  some  day." 

"I  hope  I  sha'n't  be  lame,"  mused  the 
boy.  "  And  I  hope  I  sha'n't  be  a  Coxey." 

The  Coxeyites  had  been  in  camp  a  fort 
night  when  their  trial  began.  Twice  a 
day  the  prisoners  were  marched  up  the 
streets  of  Bisuka  to  the  court-house,  and 


264  THE    TRUMPETER 

back  again  to  camp,  till  the  citizens  be 
came  accustomed  to  the  strange,  unrepubli- 
can  procession.  The  prisoners  were  herded 
along  the  middle  of  the  street ;  on  either 
side  of  them  walked  the  marshals,  and  out 
side  of  the  line  of  civil  officers  the  guard  of 
infantry  or  cavalry,  the  officers  riding  and 
the  men  on  foot. 

This  was  the  last  march  of  the  Coxeyites. 
Many  citizens  looking  on  were  of  the  opin 
ion  that  if  these  men  desired  to  make  them 
selves  an  "  object-lesson  "  to  the  nation,  this 
was  their  best  chance  of  being  useful  in 
that  capacity. 

For  two  weeks,  day  by  day,  in  the  pris 
oner's  field,  Henniker  had  been  confronted 
with  the  contrast  of  his  old  service  with  his 
present  demoralization.  He  had  been  a 
conspicuous  figure  among  the  Industrials 
until  they  came  in  contact  with  the  troops ; 
then  suddenly  he  subsided,  and  was  heard 
and  seen  as  little  as  possible.  Not  for  all 
that  a  populist  congress  could  vote,  out  of 
the  pockets  of  the  people  into  the  pockets  of 
the  tramp  petitioners,  would  he  have  posed 
as  one  of  them  before  the  eyes  of  an  officer, 
or  a  man,  of  his  old  regiment,  who  might 


THE    TRUMPETER  265 

remember  him  as  Trumpeter  Henniker  of  K 
troop.  But  the  daily  march  to  the  court 
house  was  the  death-sickness  of  his  pride. 
Once  he  had  walked  these  same  streets  with 
his  head  as  high  as  any  man's ;  and  it  had 
been, "  How  are  you,  Henniker?  "  and  "  Step 
in,  Henniker  ; "  or  Callie  had  been  laughing 
and  falling  out  of  step  on  his  arm,  or  Meta 
—  poor  little  Meta  —  waiting  for  him  when 
the  darkness  fell ! 

Now  the  women  ran  to  the  windows  and 
crowded  the  porches,  and  stared  at  him  and 
his  ill-conditioned  comrades  as  if  they  had 
been  animals  belonging  to  a  different  spe 
cies. 

But  Henniker  was  mistaken  here.  The 
eyes  of  the  pretty  girls  were  for  the  "  pretty 
soldiers."  It  was  all  in  the  day's  work 
for  the  soldiers,  who  tramped  indifferently 
along ;  but  the  officers  looked  bored,  as  if 
they  were  neither  proud  of  the  duty  nor  of 
the  display  of  it  which  the  times  demanded. 

On  the  last  day's  march  from  the  court 
house  to  the  camp,  there  was  a  clamor  of 
voices  that  drowned  the  shuffling  and  tramp 
ing  of  the  feet.  The  prisoners  were  all 
talking  at  once,  discussing  the  sentences 


2GG  THE   TRUMPETER 

which  the  court  had  just  announced :  the 
leaders  and  those  taken  in  acts  of  violence 
to  be  imprisoned  at  hard  labor  for  specified 
terms;  the  rank  and  file  to  be  put  back 
on  their  stolen  progress  as  far  westward, 
whence  they  came,  as  the  borders  of  the 
State  would  allow ;  there  to  be  staked  out, 
as  it  were,  on  the  banks  of  the  Snake  River, 
and  guarded  for  sixty  days  by  the  marshals, 
supported  by  the  inevitable  "  presence  of  the 
troops." 

But  the  sentence  that  Henniker  heard 
was  that  private  one  which  his  own  child  had 
spoken  :  "  Get  out  with  you  !  Go  back  where 
you  belong,  you  dirty  man ! "  He  had 
wished  at  the  time  that  he  could  make  the 
proud  youngster  feel  the  sting  of  his  own  lash : 
but  that  thought  had  passed  entirely,  and 
been  merged  in  the  simple  hurt  of  a  father's 
longing  for  his  son.  "  If  he  were  mine," 
he  bitterly  confessed,  "  if  that  little  cock-a- 
hoop  rascal  would  own  me  and  love  me  for 
his  dad,  I  swear  to  God  I  could  begin  my 
life  again  !  But  now,  what  next  ?  " 

There  had  been  a  stoppage  ahead,  the 
feet  pressing  on  had  slackened  step,  when 
there,  with  his  back  to  the  high  iron  gates  of 


THE   TRUMPETER  267 

the  capitol-grounds,  was  the  beautiful  child 
again.  A  young  woman  stood  beside  him, 
a  fine,  wholesome  girl  like  a  full-blown  cot 
tage  rose,  with  auburn  hair,  an  ivory-white 
throat,  and  a  back  as  flat  as  a  trooper's.  It 
was  Gallic,  of  course,  with  Meta's  child.  The 
cup  of  Henniker's  humilation  was  full. 

The  boy  stood  with  his  chin  up,  his  hat 
on  the  back  of  his  head,  his  plump  hands 
spread  on  the  hips  of  his  white  knicker 
bockers.  He  was  dressed  in  his  best,  as  he 
had  come  from  a  children's  fete.  Around 
his  neck  hung  a  prize  which  he  had  won  in 
the  games,  a  silver  dog-whistle  on  a  scarlet 
ribbon.  He  caught  it  to  his  lips  and  blew 
a  long  piercing  trill,  his  dark  eyes  smiling, 
the  wind  blowing  the  short  curls  across  his 
cheek. 

"  There  he  is,  the  lame  one  I  I  made 
him  look  round,"  said  Ross. 

Henniker  had  turned,  for  one  long  look 
—  the  last,  he  thought  —  a£  his  son.  All 
the  singleness  and  passion  of  the  mother, 
the  fire  and  grace  and  daring  of  the  father, 
were  in  the  promise  of  his  childish  face  and 
form.  He  flushed,  not  a  self-conscious,  but 
an  honest,  generous  blush,  and  took  his  hat 


268  THE   TRUMPETER 

away  off  his  head  to  the  lame  Coxeyite  — • 
"  because  I  was  mean  to  him  ;  and  they  are 
down  and  done  for  now,  the  Coxeys." 

"Whose  kid  is  that?"  asked  the  man 
who  walked  beside  Henniker,  seeing  the 
gesture  and  the  look  that  passed  between 
the  man  and  the  boy.  "  He  's  as  handsome 
as  they  make  'em,"  he  added,  smiling. 

Henniker  did  not  reply  in  the  proud 
word  "  Mine."  A  sudden  heat  rushed  to 
his  eyes,  his  chest  was  tight  to  bursting. 
He  pulled  his  hat  down  and  tramped  along. 
The  shuffling  feet  of  the  prisoners  passed  on 
down  the  middle  of  the  street ;  the  double 
line  of  guards  kept  step  on  either  side.  The 
dust  arose  and  blended  the  moving  shapes, 
prisoners  and  guards  together,  and  blotted 
them  out  in  the  distance. 

Callie  had  not  seen  her  old  lover  at  all. 
"Great  is  the  recuperative  power  of  the 
human  heart."  She  had  been  looking  at 
Corporal  Niles,'who  could  not  turn  his  well- 
drilled  head  to  look  at  her.  But  a  side- 
spark  from  his  blue  eye  shot  out  in  her 
direction,  and  made  her  blush  and  cease  to 
smile.  Corporal  Niles  carried  his  head  a 
little  higher  and  walked  a  little  straighter 


THE   TRUMPETER  269 

after  that ;  and  Callie  went  slowly  through 
the  gates,  and  sat  a  long  while  on  one  of  the 
benches  in  the  park,  with  her  elbow  resting 
on  the  iron  scroll  and  her  cheek  upon  her 
hand. 

She  was  thinking  about  the  Coxeyites' 
sentence,  and  wondering  if  the  cavalry  would 
have  to  go  down  to  the  stockade  prison  on 
the  Snake;  for  in  that  case  Corporal  Niles 
would  have  to  go,  and  the  wedding  be  post 
poned.  Everybody  knows  it  is  bad  luck  to 
put  off  a  wedding-day ;  and  besides,  the  yel 
low  roses  she  had  promised  her  corporal  to 
wear  would  all  be  out  of  bloom,  and  no  other 
roses  but  those  were  the  true  cavalry  yel 
low. 

But  the  cavalry  did  not  go  down  till 
after  the  wedding,  which  took  place  on  the 
evening  appointed,  at  the  Meadows  cottage, 
between  "Sound  off"  and  "Taps."  The 
ring  was  duly  blessed,  and  the  father's  and 
mother's  kiss  was  not  wanting.  The  prim 
rose  radiance  of  the  summer  twilight  shone 
as  strong  as  lamplight  in  the  room,  and 
Callie,  in  her  white  dress,  with  her  auburn 
braids  gleaming  through  the  wedding-veil 
and  her  lover's  colors  in  the  roses  on  her 


270  THE    TRUMPETER 

breast,  was  as  sweet  and  womanly  a  picture 
as  any  mother  could  wish  to  behold. 

When  little  Ross  came  up  to  kiss  the 
bride,  he  somehow  forgot,  and  flung  his 
arms  first  around  Corporal  Niles's  brown 
neck. 

"  Corporal,  I  'm  twice  related  to  the  cav 
alry  now,"  said  he.  "  I  had  a  father  in  it, 
and  now  I  've  got  an  uncle  in  it." 

"  That 's  right,"  the  corporal  agreed ;  "and 
if  you  have  any  sort  of  luck  you  '11  be  in  it 
yourself  some  day." 

"  But  not  in  the  ranks,"  said  Ross  firmly. 
"  I  'm  going  to  West  Point,  you  know." 

"  Bless  his  heart !  "  cried  Callie,  catch 
ing  the  boy  in  her  arms ;  "  and  how  does 
he  think  he  's  going  to  get  there  ?  " 

"  I  shall  manage  it  somehow,"  said  Ross, 
struggling.  He  was  very  fond  of  Aunt 
Callie,  but  a  boy  does  n't  like  to  be  hugged 
so  before  his  military  acquaintances,  and  in 
Ross's  opinion  there  had  been  a  great  deal 
too  much  kissing  and  hugging,  not  to  speak 
of  crying,  already.  He  did  not  see  why 
there  should  be  all  this  fuss  just  because 
Aunt  Callie  was  going  up  to  the  barracks  to 
live,  in  the  jolliest  little  whitewashed  cabin, 


THE   TRUMPETER  271 

with  a  hop-vine  hanging,  like  the  veil  on  an 
old  woman's  bonnet,  over  the  front  gable. 
He  only  wished  that  the  corporal  had  asked 
him  to  go  too ! 

A  slight  misgiving  about  his  last  speech 
was  making  Ross  uncomfortable.  If  there 
was  a  person  whose  feelings  he  would  not 
have  wished  to  hurt  for  anything  in  the 
world,  it  was  Corporal  Niles. 

"  Corporal,"  he  amended  affectionately, 
"  if  I  should  be  a  West  Pointer,  and  should 
be  over  you,  I  should  n't  put  on  any  airs, 
you  know.  We  should  be  better  friends 
than  ever." 

"  I  expect  we  should,  captain.  I  'm  look 
ing  forward  to  the  day." 

A  mild  species  of  corvee  had  been  put  in 
force  down  on  the  Snake  River  while  the 
stockade  prison  was  building.  The  prisoners 
as  a  body  rebelled  against  it,  and  were  not 
constrained  to  work;  but  a  few  were  will 
ing,  and  these  were  promptly  stigmatized  as 
"  scabs,"  and  ill  treated  by  the  lordly  idlers. 
Hence  they  were  given  a  separate  camp  and 
treated  as  trusties. 

When   the  work  was   done  the  trusties 


272  THE    TRUMPETER 

were  rewarded  with  their  freedom,  either 
to  go  independently,  or  to  stay  and  eat 
government  rations  till  the  sixty  days  of 
their  sentence  had  expired. 

Henniker,  in  spite  of  his  infirmity,  had 
been  one  of  the  hardest  volunteer  workers. 
But  now  the  work  was  done,  and  the  ques 
tion  returned,  What  next?  What  comes 
after  Coxeyism  when  Coxeyism  fails? 

He  sat  one  evening  by  the  river,  and 
again  he  was  a  free  man.  A  dry  embank 
ment,  warm  as  an  oven  to  the  touch,  sloped 
up  to  the  railroad  track  above  his  head ;  tufts 
of  young  sage  and  broken  stone  strewed  the 
face  of  it ;  there  was  not  a  tree  in  sight. 
He  heard  the  river  boiling  down  over  the 
rapids  and  thundering  under  the  bridge. 
He  heard  the  trumpets  calling  the  men  to 
quarters.  "Lights  out"  had  sounded  some 
time  before.  He  had  been  lying  motion 
less,  prone  on  his  face,  his  head  resting 
on  his  crossed  arms.  The  sound  of  the 
trumpets  made  him  choke  up  like  a  home 
sick  boy.  He  lay  there  till,  faintly  in  the 
distance,  "  Taps "  breathed  its  slow  and 
sweet  good-night. 

"  Last  call,"  he  said.     "  Time  to  turn  in." 


THE   TRUMPETER  273 

He  rolled  over  and  began  to  pull  off  the 
rags  in  which  his  child  had  spurned  him. 

"  The  next  time  I  'm  inspected,"  he  mut 
tered,  "I  shall  be  a  clean  man."  So,  naked, 
he  slipped  into  the  black  water  under  the 
bank.  The  river  bore  him  up  and  gave  him 
one  more  chance,  but  he  refused  it :  with 
two  strokes  he  was  in  the  midst  of  the 
death-current,  and  it  seized  him  and  took 
him  down. 


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